Wherever You Will Go
by caffeinekitty
Summary: "You're leaving. Well, then... consider this a parting gift."
1. Chapter 1

_Originally posted at the Drrr Kinkmeme on Livejournal. _

_The prompt: **Shizaya**- desperation, consensual master/slave_

Izaya has always been in love with Shizuo but desperately maintains his hateful front to protect himself and his heart, figuring if he can be near Shizuo and do things to ensure his attention always comes back to Izaya, that will be enough. But then something happens (maybe someone innocent gets really hurt by him for the first time in years, in the course of a rage Izaya's inspired, and he decides he needs to live in seclusion - and away from Izaya - for everyone else's safety?), and Shizuo decides to leave Ikebukuro, for good. And for whatever reason (Tsukumoya Shinichi helped block or circumvent Izaya's information networks? Celty is going to fly him wherever he needs to go so he has no need for plane tickets?), Izaya can't find out where that is.

So Shizuo is going to leave and Izaya is not going to be able to follow, and suddenly protecting his heart becomes a lot less important than finding a way for Shizuo to stay near him. So Izaya breaks into Shizuo's apartment, dresses himself up in fetish gear (cock ring, butt plug, ties his arms and legs together in a kneeling position when he's done), and offers himself to Shizuo as a sex slave, if he'll just take him with him wherever he goes. Izaya will let Shizuo do anything he wants to him, as long as he doesn't leave him behind.

Shizuo balks at first, the entire idea is to get away from Izaya and the uncontrollable rages he inspires!, but when he angrily mutters something like "what I want is for you to slit your wrists in front of me" and Izaya crawls to where his switchblade is lying and proceeds to do exactly that, Shizuo realizes he's serious.

yeah what I want is just, Shizuo going someplace to be apart from society, to protect society, and taking a desperate Izaya with him. Being rough and cruel with Izaya at first, and Izaya accepting all of it because it's better than losing Shizuo completely. And then Shizuo eventually falling in love back when he realizes he's finally meeting the sincere, genuine Izaya, and liking him. Angst and angry D/s smut and a happy ending please. :c

**_The following story contains M/M - please don't read if that's not your thing. If it is, enjoy! ;)_**

* * *

><p><span>Wherever You Will Go<span>

Chapter One

[Are you sure you're doing the right thing?]

The only sound breaking the heavy silence in Shinra's apartment was the agitated tap-tap-tap of Celty's fingers on her PDA's keypad.

"Now now, Celty, I'm sure Shizuo's given his decision plenty of thought—"

[I wasn't talking to you!] The PDA almost smacked Shinra in the nose, before it whipped back around to face the blond sitting on the edge of the couch, body tense enough to snap. [Have you?]

"Yeah."

[But all your friends are here, your family… I know what happened was—]

Shizuo didn't see the rest of whatever she was typing, stilling her fingers with one hand over hers. Whatever she was going to say, it wouldn't be the half of it. There were no words, not this time.

"Please. I don't know anyone else who can do this."

Celty sighed, the smoke curling from her neck dancing restlessly. She took a long moment to type her next sentence.

[But it isn't fair. Everyone knows it wasn't your fault.]

Everyone except him, apparently. But unlike far too many of his friends, he really wasn't into deluding himself. It _was_ his fault. Everything he'd spent his life trying to avoid had come to pass. On some level, he'd always expected he'd be prepared for it; he'd had a lifetime to learn to fear it, after all, years to rehearse how he might feel, how he might react.

He'd never expected to feel this empty. Maybe that's how it was supposed to feel when the last vestiges of being human, of being a _good person_, were ripped away.

The hands on his knees tightened into fists of their own volition, and out of peripheral vision he saw Celty and Shinra tense. Probably wondering how much of their apartment would escape unscathed.

When he first got here, Shinra, ever the gracious host to wounded creatures showing up on his doorstep unannounced, had shoved a steaming hot cup of coffee – extra cream and sugar – into his hands. At the first mention of the flea's name, the mug was reduced to splinters of china. He forced his hands to relax, and tugged absentmindedly at the coffee-stained cuffs of his shirt, trying not to think about how disappointed Kasuka would be with him now.

_Because that's all I do. Break things. Ruin things. And that goddamn flea just makes me—_

Even as he thought it, bitterness clawed at the back of his throat, making it hard to breathe. No… the flea might be the fuel, but it had been his own choice to strike the match. He was everything they said he was: dangerous; no self control; just a stupid beast. Surely if he wasn't, he'd have been able to find some scrap of restraint by now. But no. One look at those smug red eyes, that infuriating smirk and everything he thought he'd managed to ram through his thick head just vanished.

"This is the only thing I can do." He shook his head. "If things carry on like they are… He's not gonna stop, you know? And I can't…"

_I can't let anyone else get hurt. _

Maybe Celty was right; maybe it wasn't fair. In an ideal world, the flea would grow the fuck up, learn to leave well enough alone, and quit with his stupid, dangerous games. In an ideal world, Shizuo wouldn't have to live looking over his shoulder, just waiting, _endlessly _waiting for the next disaster.

"One of us has to walk away," he said eventually. "I don't give a shit that it's me, as long as it stops before it does any more damage."

"Hmm, there is a sense of taking the moral high ground to it…" Shinra pondered.

"Screw the goddamned moral high ground," Shizuo growled under his breath. Even if there was such a thing in this wreck of a situation, he sure as hell had no more right to it than the flea. Not anymore. So really, there wasn't much to stay for. At least, nothing that wouldn't be far better off without him. "I'm sick of seeing that fucking flea's face, anyway."

After a moment's silence, Celty began typing again.

[If this is really what you want, then yes, I can help you.]

For the first time in a long while, a little thread of tension began to loosen the deathgrip it had wound around Shizuo's spine. He felt his shoulders lower a fraction as he nodded, managing a small, genuine smile.

"Thank you."

* * *

><p><em>Bakyura has just joined the chat.<em>

_**Bakyura**_  
>Hey, did you guys hear? One of the people who were in that accident last week died today.<p>

_**Saika**_  
>Oh no! That's terrible.<p>

_**Tanaka Taro**_  
>Are you sure? It might just be gossip.<p>

_**Bakyura**_  
>It's not gossip, it was just on the news.<p>

_**Kanra**_  
>Wah, so scary~! (°д° ) You know, it's all the Beast of Ikebukuro's fault. Maybe now he'll be locked away for a lo~ong time.<p>

_**Tanaka Taro**_  
>I don't think that's fair, Kanra-san. No one's really blaming him for this, are they?<p>

_**Bakyura**_

_**Tanaka Taro**_  
>What, really?<p>

_**Kanra**_  
>Of course! He's a scary monster! Ohhh, someone needs to come and protect meeee~!<p>

_**Bakyura**_  
>No, it might be true. This <em>is<em>gossip, but there are rumours that he's gonna leave Ikebukuro for good because of this.

_**Saika**_  
>Really?<p>

_**Tanaka Taro**_  
>That'll be strange. It won't be the same if he really does leave. Where will he go?<p>

_**Bakyura**_  
>Who knows? At least we might be able to find a vending machine that works now.<p>

_**Tanaka Taro**_  
>Well, maybe that's true…<p>

_**Tanaka Taro**_  
>Did Kanra-san leave? And speaking of which, Setton-san isn't around tonight?<p>

_**Saika**_  
>Ah, Setton-san was here earlier but had to leave. I think someone came to the door.<p>

_**Tanaka Taro**_  
>Oh, I see.<p>

_**Kanra**_  
>Ahh, did you miss me Taro-chan? （*´ε｀*）I just have things to do, so I'll be leaving now.<p>

_**Bakyura**_  
>Gonna go die?<p>

_**Kanra**_  
>Bakyura-chan is so meeeean! （；´д｀ ）Bye-bye-bee! ~<p>

_Kanra has just left the chat._

Turning away from his computer, Izaya flicked on the television. The news anchor was droning on about the horrendous economy – Izaya never saw the problem; his economy was doing just fine, thank you very much – but the scrolling newsfeed across the bottom of the screen backed up the chatroom gossip.

_'Pedestrian injured in Ikebukuro traffic accident dies in hospital'_

Turning the TV off with a muted click, Izaya leaned back in his chair, and tried to identify and catalogue the odd, cold creeping sensation in his chest. Rubbing a hand against it, he stared up at the ceiling and began to plan a counter measure.

So someone died, that much was true. Still, Shizu-chan wouldn't run away just because of something like this. Shizu-chan _never_ ran away, that was about the only predictable thing about him. Even if the world screeched to a halt – oh, the irony of_ that!_ – Shizu-chan would still be there, hurling insults and vending machines. Of course he would, because that never changed. Regardless of what Izaya did, _that never changed. _

Ah, well. Confirming it one way or another was simple enough. Rolling his shoulders to try and ease the strange stiffness, he spun the chair back around to the computer. A few clicks brought up one of the most deeply encrypted files on his system, the one that ranked along with his handy list of corrupt politicians and yakuza informants.

One of the first items in the folder was a photo from a couple of weeks back. Before the accident. Before he could even think to stop himself, he clicked to open a larger version of the image. It looked like a grey, drizzly day in Ikebukuro, though those ubiquitous sunglasses were firmly in place. As usual, Shizuo trailed his boss by a few paces, but there was something in the relaxed way he held his fast-food-joint milkshake, and the almost-smile on his face that turned the man in the photo into a stranger.

_I never see that Shizu-chan._

Not that he wanted to. He scowled at the screen as though it had become possessed and opened up the photo all by itself. No, that'd just render everything he'd done for the past too-many years utterly useless. He clicked the red 'x' in the corner of the photograph.

_'Do you want to delete? Y/N.'_

It was a form of self-torture, really. He should just delete it, delete the whole thing and forget.

Right. Last time he tried, he'd jolted awake at four in the morning, stumbled over to the desk, and retrieved the folder from the recycle bin before he could erase it all in some careless move.

Well, if he ever _did_ careless, anyway…

_'N'. Click. _

It was all just a matter of risk assessment, and this was something he could keep with minimal risk. Out there, dodging projectiles and feeling the adrenaline make him reckless, _that_ was too much risk. So, for the days his will felt shaky at best, the days when careless_ did _threaten to ruin it all and no amount of talking himself down did the trick… for those days, there was a folder full of a complete stranger, and it was enough to remind him why. Why dodging vending machines was already plenty.

_So that can never change. That can never stop. That's why he _can't _just leave._

Steering himself off that particular train of thought, he clicked open the data file, scrolling down to the information filed under 'current address'. A couple of cross references later and he was dialling the number for Shizuo's landlord.

"Can I help you?"

"Ah, I'm so sorry to bother you this late, I just heard that one of the apartments in your building was going to be available soon?"

"Oh, you mean 22?" The man sounded surprised. "I didn't know we'd started advertising, the lease was only cancelled yesterday. But yeah, the current tenant should be out by the end of the week. If you're interested I can show you around tomorrow?"

The end of the week? Didn't leases have proper termination clauses in Shizuo's low-brow little world? How could he even afford to break a lease right now? Who the hell was helping him?

_I thought there'd be more _time…

But then, trust a protozoan to be inconsiderate of others' well crafted plans. The smile that tugged at his lips as the thought didn't quite feel right, though. He glanced at his distorted reflection in the dark glass of the television screen, where his smile came back to him as more of a grimace.

Huh. It wasn't as though he was in _pain _or something…

"Hmm…" He flicked through a book – some boring novel, forgotten and discarded – on his desk, pretending to look through a schedule that had just turned non-existent. "I should be able to manage tomorrow. What time?"

"Ah, around three? Unless you'd rather wait and talk to the current tenant, he'll be working till—"

"No, three is perfect." Absolutely perfect. "I'll see you then."


	2. Chapter 2

_Originally posted at the Drrr Kinkmeme on Livejournal. _

_The following story contains M/M - please don't read if that's not your thing. If it is, enjoy! ;)_

* * *

><p><span>Wherever You Will Go <span>

Chapter Two

If there was any indication that all wasn't as it should be, the way he could skip through Ikebukuro completely unimpeded would've been it. No crashing street furniture, no threatening rumbles of "IZA-YA-KUN!" The city felt muted and colourless for the lack. Shizuo might as well be gone already.

_But he hasn't gone, not yet…_

Stepping out of your door to realize someone had taken away the sky while you were sleeping must feel a little bit like that, Izaya thought. Oh, it wasn't as though he'd taken Shizuo's presence for granted, no… but as much as they both seemed to live their lives on the razor's edge, he'd expected _he'd _be the one to change the status quo one way or another. Expected to be the one in control, however unpredictable Shizuo chose to be.

_But you've forced my hand, ne, Shizu-chan…_

He'd woken up that morning to the unfamiliar feeling of doubting his own plans. Even if that foreign notion had lingered, the hollowness of the city streets would have convinced him to forge ahead, regardless of the outcome.

Because this just wouldn't do. At all.

On the bright side, if he survived the day he could chalk this up as another perfectly executed plan. And if he didn't, well… at least he'd have his answers. That had to count for something.

Shizuo's landlord was waiting for him outside the nondescript building. For all the information Izaya had about the place, he'd never seen the need to set foot inside. It was one of those things filed away under "too risky".

"Thanks for taking the time to show me the place." He sent the landlord a bright, breezy smile.

"That's fine," the man led the way to Shizuo's door, but paused before unlocking it, "but I checked, and we hadn't started advertising yet. How did you hear about the place, anyway?"

"Hmm…" Izaya tapped his index finger against his lips, feigning deep thought. "You know, I don't remember. Weird, huh?" A laugh. "Ah, I think perhaps a friend of mine who lives in this neighbourhood must have mentioned it."

He could just imagine Shizuo's reaction to that, could hear the unamused snort and "You don't _have _friends, flea."

_Ah, you see, I'd miss your brutal honesty far too much… _

The explanation seemed enough for the landlord, or, Izaya suspected, the man was far too predictably human and allowed his concern for the bottom line over ride his quite accurate suspicions. Humans' general disdain for their instincts, their scepticism of their validity, never failed to entertain him.

_Except for you. You're the exception to everything, which is why you're just no fun, Shizu-chan. _

The landlord was talking about the amenities and non-refundable deposits, but seeing as the information was unnecessary to him Izaya tuned it out, focusing instead on far more important details.

It was the strangest thing, this tiny little microcosm of Shizuo's life. From the glass drying on the side of the kitchen sink, to the toothbrush in its holder in the bathroom, or the faintest indentation in one of the couch cushions as though it was the last thing Shizuo touched before leaving for work. The scent of cigarettes was strangely subdued; the single ashtray on the coffee table was empty. The movie magazine on the coffee table featuring Hanejima Yuuhei's latest project, even though there was no a DVD player hooked up to the small television.

Izaya was only mildly disturbed by the overwhelming desire to gather all those things in his arms and just breathe in their imprinted memory of the man who lived here. If he didn't have an audience, he might've done just that.

No… the disturbing part was that he almost did it _anyway_, audience or not.

There was no clue in the neat, Spartan apartment to suggest where Shizuo was going. No floor-plans for new apartments, no brochures for Tahiti. And even though Izaya had already skipped past the point of "where" being relevant, he couldn't resist prodding the landlord for potential information.

_Old habits and all that…_

"Why is the current tenant leaving?"

"Don't know," the landlord shrugged, "but I can't say I'll miss all the complaints from the neighbours."

"Ah, a troublemaker was he?"

The landlord made a noncommittal sound. "Not especially. Just kept breaking stuff."

Izaya chuckled, rocking back on his heels, hands in the pocket of his coat. The patch-up jobs were very well done, but little things gave it away. There was a section of the wall where the paint didn't quite match up, one of the kitchen taps looked a little newer than the other, and one leg of the coffee table had definitely been glued back on. He entertained himself with visions of how, exactly, those repairs had come to be  
>necessary in the first place.<p>

_Heh. You're certainly not getting your deposit back, ne, Shizu-chan?_

"So he's moving somewhere more sturdy? This place looks pretty solid to me."

"I didn't ask. You wanna talk to him, you're welcome to come back later."

"Ah, unfortunately I can't do that." Although the idea of meeting the man who lived in this space was awfully tempting. "Can I stay here for a while, though? You know, just to take it all in."

The landlord stared at him. What the hell was there to 'take in' in a cramped 1LDK, except maybe the fetching view of the alleyway between this building and the one next door, or, if he stretched his neck out the window, the stunning vista of the take-out place on the corner.

Izaya kept smiling his most winsome, 'how can you disagree with this?' smile, until the landlord shrugged.

"Knock yourself out." He hesitated a moment before handing over the keys, eyes darting around the apartment. Evidently coming to the same conclusion as Izaya – that Shizuo didn't have anything worth stealing – he dropped the keys into Izaya's outstretched palm. "Drop the keys off when you leave."

"Thank you."

Except he had no intention of leaving.

As soon as the landlord left, he cheerfully swung the duffle bag from his shoulder and headed for Shizuo's bedroom.

It was as sparse and tidy as the rest of the apartment. No doubt a perusal of the closet would turn up a dozen variations of that bartender's outfit and a quick rifle through the nightstand validated Izaya's decision to bring his own supplies.

_Not even so much as a porn stash under the bed. You really _are_ a monster, Shizu-chan!_

For a moment he just lay sprawled across Shizuo's once neatly-made bed, clutching the sheets to his face like some school girl with her first crush.

Heh, maybe he was. Maybe that's how it'd always been.

_"I don't like you."_

Or maybe not.

He'd never wanted this. He'd been perfectly content with the charade, with the endless game of cat and mouse through the streets of Ikebukuro and through his entire life. Once he'd realized he could never shake these feelings, there had at least been a way to subjugate them, channel them into a method he could control. It wasn't as though Shizu-chan ever knew the difference. Shizu-chan would have hated him no matter what he did.

_"I don't like you."_

But Shizuo just had to go and change the rules now, just had to disrupt the perfect order of things like the reckless, tiny-brained creature he was.

Izaya sat up reluctantly, reaching for his bag and methodically removing the contents onto the rumpled sheets.

"Ah, you don't have to like me, Shizu-chan. But I don't remember ever giving you permission to leave me behind."

* * *

><p>One thing he wasn't going to miss about this city was the fricking idiots his job forced him to deal with on a daily basis. Who the hell was desperate enough to land themselves in debt to their eyeballs over a dating site? Was it really worth all that just to have someone to say "I'm home" to at the end of the day?<p>

Shizuo had long since resigned himself to the fact that'd never happen. So really, the thought of being alone didn't bother him that much. Hell, it'd be a break just to not have to _worry_ about everyone all the damned time.

Yeah, it was better all around this way.

And it wasn't like he was abandoning anyone. Celty had Shinra. Tom had Vorona to rely on, who, arguably, scared the debt-ridden even more shitless than he did. Kasuka would be so engrossed in his work it'd take him weeks to even notice.

So yeah, not a big deal. And even if it was, well… he didn't need reminding of how dangerous it was to stay.

Still, he couldn't help the wry smile that twisted his lips as he unlocked his door.

"I'm home."

As though to humour him, something in his bedroom went _thud._

Shaking his head at his own hopelessness, he dropped the shopping bags he carried onto the couch, and slid a finger under his bow tie to loosen the knot. _Shopping. _Clothes shopping, fuck. There, Celty, is your proof I've thought this through.

What he hadn't told her was that continuing to wear the clothes his brother had given him felt damn near fraudulent now. The man who had the right to wear this uniform could've clung to the knowledge he tried his hardest to keep his promises. The man who had the right to wear this uniform strove to live a life that wouldn't let the one who gave it to him down.

_Ah, fuck it all…_

Picking up the ashtray and a new pack of cigarettes, he settled on the narrow windowsill, one knee drawn up. The late afternoon sun drenched the window with amber light at the time of year. Cranking open the window, he leaned back and closed his eyes, just listening to the sounds of the city below.

Tucked away in one of the shopping bags was the small box Celty had given him, its ornate carvings worn glass-smooth from centuries of handling. Inside, looped on a black cord, was an unassuming disk of silver, marked with some indecipherable engraving.

"This is it?" He'd asked dubiously when Celty handed it over. "Doesn't look like much. You've tried it, right? It's not gonna blow up my building by accident or something?"

[Well, no, but according to legend it allows the wearer to travel to any destination they choose.]

"According to legend?" He'd raised a brow "So you don't even know if it'll work?"

[Of course it will!] The black smoke coiled indignantly. [It wouldn't be in my possession if it wasn't genuine, right?]

Exhaling a ribbon of cigarette smoke, Shizuo laughed softly to himself; when the hell had things like that become _normal_, become mundane? The day he figured a mythical fairy happened to be one of his closest friends, or the day he'd picked up that refrigerator?

Didn't matter. As long as it did what it was supposed to do, and, more importantly, did so without leaving a trace.

_Because he'd find me, somehow._

Planes were out. So were trains, taxis, anything that would leave behind witnesses or a paper trail the flea could follow. He'd have been loathe to make too many traceable plans anyway, but when he was dealing with someone who, unfortunately, could boast about being frighteningly good at what he did… ordinary means just weren't an option. And there weren't many people he could trust with something like this. Hell, he still wasn't sure he should have trusted Shinra with this knowledge, despite Celty's reassurances that Shizuo would be the only one to know where he was going.

[That's because it's up to you. Anywhere you want to go, it'll take you there.]

"What if I don't know where to go?"

[Then it'll take you home.]

Home. This _was_ home. It wasn't as though he was one of those people who had no idea where they belonged. There'd been days where the madness of this city was the only constant thing in his life, the only thing he could rely on. In the surreal circus of Ikebukuro and its residents, he'd felt… not content, maybe that was the wrong word for it, but hell, at least he hadn't felt as though he was the only screw-up in the world. It had been comforting, for some dumb reason, to know there were other things just as messed up as him out there.

And now he had to walk away, because of that goddamned flea.

Unbidden, he heard the echo of screeching brakes, crumpling metal, those fucking screams—

Eyes snapping open, he took a long, shaky drag of the cigarette, scrubbing a hand over his face. The sun slipped a little lower in the sky, disappearing behind the grey monolith of a skyscraper.

No… the flea wasn't the one responsible for that. It would have been so much simpler if he was, if Shizuo could just blame it all on Izaya being a conniving little bastard again for reasons known only to himself. That was just what Izaya did, what he'd always done, what he would _always_ do unless someone broke the cycle. The provocation, the taunting, the goddamn constant prodding and niggling, it wasn't a good enough excuse anymore because a better man would never have let it get to him.

A better man wouldn't have let someone die for such a pathetic, pointless reason.

_Fuck…_

The sounds of the street changed from gentle to grating. He shut the window, wishing the things he felt were as easy to close off.

Something in the bedroom went _thud_ again. Shizuo frowned, stubbing out his cigarette and levering himself up from the windowsill. Maybe something fell, though he couldn't recall leaving anything out that might. And shit, surely he could make it one more week without something _else _breaking in this dump…

Just as he reached for the door handle, something ominously familiar danced across his senses, the same sensation that usually said "…oh crap" just before fate decked him with a brick.

_…Nah. Couldn't be. _

Shaking off the misplaced feeling of doom, Shizuo opened the door.


	3. Chapter 3

_Originally posted at the Drrr Kinkmeme on Livejournal. _

_The following story contains M/M - please don't read if that's not your thing. If it is, enjoy! ;)_

* * *

><p><span>Wherever You Will Go <span>

Chapter Three_  
><em>

And promptly shut it again, but not before the image that greeted him burned itself onto every sense.

That was… what the fuck was _that?_

Leaning against the door, he closed his eyes and let his head fall back to thunk hard against the wood. Once. Twice. He tried to ignore the fact his hands were shaking as he raked them through his hair, because he couldn't even wrap his thoughts around the reason they _would_. Even the rage couldn't soothe him; it had been rendered as stunned and unresponsive as the rest of him.

Taking a breath to try and calm his racing heartbeat, he wished he hadn't extinguished that cigarette; he needed something to steady himself, something to do with his hands before they wrung the shit out of the flea's neck.

Or worse.

This was why he had to leave. This was the last straw. He'd reached the point where he had no idea what the damned louse might try next, because if he'd already stooped this low...

Images skipped across his closed eyelids: pale skin; black leather; red eyes. Shit, it was like some fucked up version of Snow White, except the only poisoned apple in this story was currently naked, gagged and bound on Shizuo's bed.

Fuck. His fist connected with the wall next to the door, crumbling plaster raining over his fingers. Fuck, fuck,_ fuck_.

Okay, fine. If this was the flea's final attempt at driving Shizuo to homicide, he'd be happy to oblige.

_No, you won't, _a little voice in the back of his head pulled him up short before he could reach for the door handle again. _Or you would have already. _

Whatever. Leaving Izaya breathing while kicking him out to wander Ikebukuro in that ridiculous get up would probably piss him off more anyway. Still, his hands were still shaking as he shoved the door open so hard it almost rebounded to smack him in the face. Pointless. The scene before him did that particular job just fine.

He wished he could look away, but the sight had him spellbound. It was like the morbid curiosity of gawkers at a traffic accident —no, not a traffic accident, something else— he told himself. And if Izaya insisted on putting himself on…on display like that, then what the hell did he expect people to do?

Pressed chest-first against the dark blue of Shizuo's sheets, Izaya's skin was milky pale and flawless. Testament to how good he was at running away, probably; Shizuo'd lost count of his own scars around the time he lost track of how many times he'd been his hospital to set another bone. Izaya, on the other hand, looked as though nothing had ever touched his skin before the black leather restraints that criss-crossed his torso and kept his ankles bound close to his thighs, preventing him from straightening his legs. From this angle, Shizuo could only guess —not that he _was_, fuck..!— where the thinner black straps that disappeared over Izaya's narrow hips went. Bad enough that one was definitely running down between his ass cheeks like some half-hearted attempt at covering him up. The handcuffs that bound his hands at the small of his back just looked like an afterthought.

He'd look away, but honestly… there didn't seem much point now. There was no way to unsee this.

Incongruously calm red eyes met his above a ball-gag that turned the usual smirk into an obscenely taut 'o', and any hope Shizuo had that someone else had orchestrated this and just dumped Izaya here to piss them _both _off evaporated.

Stupid. This stunt had the flea's scent all over it.

He felt his face flush, and Izaya's eyes crinkled in a smile at the reaction. Fuck.

Not trusting his voice, he stomped over to the bed, yanked Izaya upright, and ripped off the gag.

"Really, Shizu-chan?" Izaya murmured, and Shizuo didn't look away quickly enough to miss the way he licked his lips, pink tongue darting out like a cat delicately lapping cream. "I honestly thought that was the one you'd leave till last."

"Shut the fuck up."

The handcuffs were next, the chain between the bracelets tearing as though they were made of paper. Stupid, but there was an intrinsic unfairness in fighting a man who couldn't even use his hands. Even a sly little bastard like this.

Izaya laughed softly, but, for some unfathomable reason, did as he was told. Neither did he move his hands; they remained behind his back as though the cuffs were still in tact.

There wasn't much space to pace in his bedroom, but Shizuo forced himself to stalk from the door to the window and back a dozen times before he felt the dryness in his throat abate enough to ask, "Let me guess. One last fucked up joke for old times' sake?"

No answer, but when he looked up, Izaya just shook his head. Oh, great, they were playing this mature game, huh?

"What do you even…" He stopped pacing, brain too overloaded to move and speak at the same time. "No, I don't even wanna know. Whatever you want, I don't care. Just get the fuck out."

Not only did Izaya make no move to comply, he didn't even shift from his position. Now Shizuo could see that those other straps trailed over sharp hipbones to hold in place a thick leather cock ring. The erection that strained against those bonds was dark and flushed, the tip already glistening as it curved up towards Izaya's stomach.

If it was anyone else, Shizuo might've been impressed they could carry out a… well, _semi_-normal conversation in that state. But given Izaya's endurance in fights…

_Shit, why am I even _thinking _that?_

"Can I say something?"

Honestly, if it'd drag his attention away from Izaya's cock, Shizuo wouldn't have minded much if the flea wanted to drop a vending machine on him. He already felt like something had just dropped on him from a great height.

"Since when the hell do you ever ask?" He managed to growl. Hell if he'd let Izaya see how badly he was floundering; like the flea needed _more_ ammunition. "Since when the hell don't you love the sound of your own voice?"

"Since now." Izaya's tone was so disarmingly matter-of-fact, Shizuo had to wonder whether this was the voice he used when he really wanted someone to believe him. Because fuck if it wasn't convincing. Someone who didn't know the louse underneath could easily be taken in. But the flea was still working some angle; Shizuo was just too stupid to work out what it was. "Since you decided to change everything."

"I… what? What the hell is that supposed to mean? I haven't…"

Oh, but he had, hadn't he? Taken Izaya's favourite toy away. No wonder a few screws had wobbled loose.

"You're leaving." It was more an accusation than a question, but Shizuo wasn't particularly surprised. He figured the Ikebukuro rumour mill had churned that piece of news out days ago. Izaya looked up at him with a half-smile, the buckles rattling against the broken handcuffs as he shrugged. "Well, then… consider this a parting gift."

"A gift?" Shizuo barked an incredulous laugh. "Sorry. You shoulda kept the receipt."

"Ah, this one has a non-refundable policy." Izaya's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "You can't send it back. It's yours to do with as you will."

_Okay, that was just… _

"All right, seriously? What the fuck are you playing at this time?"

Izaya puffed out an annoyed sigh. "Haven't we done this part already? I'm not playing at anything. You're leaving, and I…" He looked away, and Shizuo was too busy trying to remember the last time Izaya voluntarily broke eye contact with _anyone_ that he almost missed whatever the flea murmured under his breath.

"What?" He cursed himself for even asking, for getting sucked into this stupid game, but damned if that hadn't sounded a whole lot like—

"Please." That ruby gaze remained averted. "Please. You can't just walk away now. You just can't. I'll be anything you want. Do anything you want. If you want me to never say another word to you, then that's okay, I can—"

"Shit, are you even listening to yourself?" _Are _you _listening to yourself? _That little voice was back. _Is your voice really shaking that badly just because you're dumb enough to believe the louse's lies?_"Like your fucking ego would even let you."

Izaya looked at him then. "Some things are more important."

"Right." Shizuo scoffed, because it seemed a smarter option than hysterical laughter. "And you expect me to believe that, from you? Just go, Izaya. I'm done. I'm _tired_. Go find someone else to play with."

"You don't have to believe me." Izaya shook his head. "You can still hate me, Shizu-chan. That's fine. Just don't leave me behind."

Shizuo stared. Maybe he'd made a mistake. Maybe the guy trussed up on his bed wasn't Orihara Izaya, was instead some stranger who looked a hell of a lot like him but, somehow, managed to be even more fucked up. But those red eyes met his with their usual defiance, even if the cockiness was conspicuously missing, and Shizuo had to turn sharply for the door just to break the intensity in that gaze.

"I can't listen to this. This is just…" He stopped in the doorway, hands braced on the frame and clenching so hard the wood squeaked its protest, and muttered. "And why the fuck do you keep making me leave? The city, my own fucking room…"

"You don't have to leave. I don't want you to leave, that's the whole point."

Shizuo grimaced. "And that's meant to make me feel better?"

"Then what will it take? What do you want?" There was an edge of desperation in Izaya's voice that made Shizuo want to hit him just to make it stop. "There has to be something, there always _is_. You can have anything, anything at all—"

"Yeah? What the fuck makes you think anyone'd want _you_?"

Izaya's jaw tensed at that, and Shizuo's conscience sucker-punched him in the gut. Even if it _was_ the louse, that was just…

Cruel. Cruel, and malicious and vindictive and all the things he could pretend he wasn't as long as Izaya wasn't around. Maybe he'd always been angry, but Izaya made him mean. From that very first day, he'd taken the rage and twisted it into something brutal, something that dug its pit-bull jaws into whatever the hell this fight of theirs really was and wouldn't let go.

So maybe it was for the best that he was the one walking away, in a brief lucid moment where he still could. It wasn't just Izaya poisoned by the mess they'd so carefully nurtured.

"Anything at all, huh?"

"Anything."

"Then I just want what I've always wanted. I want you gone."

_Because every time I look at you, I remember how much I hate everything I am. _

"Ah," Izaya looked up at him, smile serene and resigned all at once, "the one time I wish you weren't so predictable, Shizu-chan…"

Izaya's jacket had fallen off the edge of the bed. Shizuo's thoughts felt so scattered, he even paused to wonder whether that was one of the sounds he'd heard. Still, he must have been more stunned than he'd imagined, because it took several moments to realize what Izaya intended, by which time he'd already managed to retrieve his knife from one of the pockets. Already flicked it open. Already manoeuvred it to press against his wrist.

_Shit._

Even in the heat of their worst fights, he didn't recall moving so fast. Too fast to even gauge what he'd done, except that he must have done something because when the haze cleared, an off-balance Izaya was trying to lever himself up from the side of the bed, and the knife was lying in the middle of the floor.

"You goddamned stupid…!" He could barely breathe to finish the thought, chest so tight he could believe Izaya had wrapped one of those leather straps around him, too. He kicked the knife out of reach. The impact sent it skittering across the floor before half-embedding itself in the doorframe.

Izaya stared at him with an utterly alien look of surprise on his face. "I thought you said-"

"Shut up. Just…" Pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes in an attempt to stop the room tilting on its axis, Shizuo dropped to sit on the edge of the bed, his body unwilling to keep him upright. "What the fuck is _wrong_ with you, huh?"

No answer. Part of him doubted Izaya even had one. Probably had _never_ had one, and in that moment Shizuo's fury felt so directionless, so defeated, he couldn't even think.

"You know," he muttered, half to himself; trying to get through to the flea seemed pretty pointless. "Normal people might've tried the 'I'm sorry for making your life hell, I'll stop being a shit from now on' tactic first."

He could feel Izaya watching him, and Shizuo had the distinct, depressing impression that such an option had never crossed his mind. "Well, I thought this might be more effective."

_And he can't even see how fucked up that is._

Head still in his hands, he didn't notice Izaya shifting closer until the touch on his knee made him jump. It was almost electric, as though a million volts ran through Izaya's fingers.

"You don't have to do anything." Izaya said again, in a voice like a gentle, insidious lullaby. His hands slid along the inside of Shizuo's thighs, nudging them apart, body nestling between Shizuo's knees. "Just let me…"

Was that really the way Izaya wanted to play it? In that case, it was just as well that any trace of self worth Shizuo might've possessed once was long gone. It was all over. It didn't matter any more what either of them did.

As though it belonged to someone else, he watched his hand reach out, fingers tangling hard in Izaya's hair, tilting the other man's face up towards his own.

"Fine," he said, in a voice he barely recognized as his own. "Give me a reason I should give a fuck."


	4. Chapter 4

_Originally posted at the Drrr Kinkmeme on Livejournal. _

_The following story contains M/M - please don't read if that's not your thing. If it is, enjoy! ;)_

* * *

><p><span>Wherever You Will Go <span>

Chapter Four

Of all the threats Shizuo had directed at him over the years, none of them shot through Izaya's blood like a high grade drug quite like that one.

He was a little disappointed when Shizuo released the hold on his hair, instead fisting his hands into the sheets at his side as though intent on not reacting at all.

_Heh. That seems like a challenge, Shizu-chan…_

For a moment, he contented himself with the simple act of touching, of feeling the warmth of Shizuo's thighs through the fabric of his pants. They were far more nicely tailored than he'd imagined, how he could see them close-up, the material rubbing smoothly against the skin beneath.

Curving his fingers around the outline of Shizuo's cock through his pants only yielded the slightest flinch. A slow squeeze made the thighs on which he rested his forearms tremble and tense. Still tracing the thickening shape with one hand, he unfastened Shizuo's pants, torturing himself by drawing the fabric down infinitely slowly, uncovering his prize inch by inch. And what a prize it was, only half hard and already promising to blow his mind.

_I always knew you would._

He paused, just letting his breath ghost against the tip.

And the second Shizuo had himself braced and ready, Izaya shifted his attention away.

_Too easy, Shizu-chan._

He lingered over the buttons of Shizuo's vest, like this was an exquisitely wrapped gift and he wanted to savour the anticipation. Truth was, every pretty package Izaya'd ever opened had disappointed him on some level. Shizuo infuriated him, frustrated him, drove the five year old buried – admittedly rather shallowly… – in Izaya's soul to temper tantrums of epic proportions, but disappointing?

No. Disappointment was just easily confused with the sheer displeasure of someone not doing what he wanted them to do.

One hand pushed the edge of Shizuo's shirt up, revealing an inverted 'v' of warm, golden skin and strong muscle. He could only marvel at the fact he had his hands on Shizu-chan with little to no threat of maiming involved. He traced his fingertips across the defined ridges of Shizuo's abs, experimentally. _No, still breathing, even if it felt like Shizu-chan wasn't._ And seeing as though the concept of 'holding back' seemed a little redundant at this point, he leaned forward, licking his way up from Shizuo's navel to the edge of the bunched-up shirt. Shizuo sucked in a breath, the muscles beneath Izaya's lips shivering.

He wanted to ask, wanted some sort of affirmation, but words would surely shatter whatever enchantment Shizuo was under. Instead, he retraced the same path back down, alternating between nuzzles and nips till he reached the base of Shizuo's cock. From peripheral vision, he saw the white-knuckle grip on the sheets tighten

Smiling to himself, he leant back slightly, letting his cheek scrape along the length of Shizuo's shaft before darting a playful lick against the tip.

"Shit…" Shizuo breathed, only a fraction louder than the sound of fabric tearing under his hands.

Fingers stroking down one side, he dragged a slow, savouring lick down the other, neither touch offering much friction or pressure. His free hand rubbed the pulled-taut material of Shizuo's pants against his balls, letting the seams and creases to do the work for him as he listened to Shizuo's measured breaths growing harsher, still fighting him. _Always_ fighting him, even like this.

_Ah, but if there's anything I'm good at, Shizu-chan, it's making you lose control…_

And whatever its owner might claim, Shizuo's body agreed wholeheartedly with Izaya's assessment that this was a very pleasing turn of events. Every touch made him harder, and Izaya's body twitched in sympathy. It was all he could do to stay still, not to rub against Shizuo's leg. Bad enough that every time he shifted his weight, the plug he wore moved with him, its tapered end nudging his prostate.

As he licked the tip of Shizuo's cock again, lapping at the slit, sucking hard at the sensitive ridge of skin under the head, he let himself imagine what it'd be like for this hot, flushed arousal to replace the cool silicone of the plug. Tightening his lips, he imagined Shizuo breaching the tight ring of muscle, forcing his way inside. The cock ring constricted uncomfortably at that thought, ass clamping down instinctively around the plug.

_Shizu-chan…_

Even if he relaxed his throat, he couldn't take it all in; his fingers grasped the base, moving against the rhythm of his mouth, the saliva trickling down Shizuo's shaft making the grip slick. Hollowing his cheeks, he swept his tongue along the underside of Shizuo's cock, letting the tip rub along the roof of his mouth. He couldn't stifle the pleased sounds reverberating in his throat in a near-purr, but he didn't want to. Shizu-chan needed to hear what he was doing to him, whether he wanted to or not.

When he glanced up, curiosity getting the better of him, Shizuo's eyes were squeezed shut, his lips a thin taut line. Izaya had seen more relaxed expressions on those on the wrong side of Shizuo's fist.

Really, Shizu-chan had to be the only person alive who'd look this anguished while getting a blow job. Or, well, one from_ him_, that might be the problem. Yet, that he was allowing it at all was unfamiliar territory, and Izaya had the uncanny feeling this was some kind of test. For which one of them, he couldn't tell yet, but if it was for him he intended to pass with flying colours.

But while he'd only factored in Shizuo's willingness in the best case scenarios, he'd anticipated his own reaction even less. The _theory_ of wanting was one thing. He'd already chosen to skip past the 'why' of it – humans in general were obsessed with the 'why' of things, rather than simply accepting that some things just were. Once one got past that, everything that remained was logical, observable. Izaya wanted ootoro just because he was himself, and ootoro was ootoro. Every aspect of both just met in a perfectly balanced midpoint.

In the same way, he wanted Shizu-chan because he was Shizu-chan. That was just the way things were. He didn't necessarily even need to like it, but as long as you could accept the reality of those things, it made it easier to mould it to your preference. And so, he'd spent years operating under the conviction that hating Shizuo was safer, wiser, _saner _than loving him.

Which it still probably was, but as simple as it had been to shift those annoying feelings over that blurred, broken line that neatly compartmentalized his life, they'd slipped back over with alarming ease given the right circumstances. It was fascinating, really.

_Ah, I never learn as much from observing humans as I do from observing you, Shizu-chan. _

The hand winding in his hair again made his rhythm falter. Shizuo's fingers tightened, pushing him away but not letting go. Izaya kept his eyes down, but that didn't help much when Shizuo moved his leg, the toe of his shoe running along the underside of Izaya's achingly hard cock, before pushing it up roughly against his stomach.

"Ah…!"

His head snapped up, the need in his cry surprising even him. If he begged for more, for _harder_, what would Shizu-chan do? Certainly not go out of his way to give Izaya what he wanted. His hips started rocking of their own accord, fucking himself against the pressure of Shizuo's foot, too desperate, too lost now to stop, to be patient, to—

He almost pitched forward onto his face when Shizuo abruptly moved away. Suddenly bereft, the pleasure had nowhere to go, and it was all he could do to breathe through the encroaching dizziness. When his vision cleared enough to focus on Shizuo's face, the blond was watching him with the emptiest expression Izaya had ever seen him wear.

No. No, he'd seen that hollow look once before.

"Shizu-chan, I—"

He could pinpoint the moment something just _broke _in Shizuo's eyes. Something almost wounded flickered in that narrowed gaze, just before Shizuo yanked him up and deposited him face first on the bed, ass raised. He struggled for balance, forgetting briefly that the restraints he'd specifically chosen were meant to hold him like this, spread and open to Shizuo's gaze.

He'd felt it the first time Shizuo walked into the room, the way that caramel gaze raked over him, hot and liquid, as tangible as any caress. Shameful as it was, Shizuo probably didn't need to touch him at all; left under the scrutiny of that look long enough, Izaya would have come without needing any other stimulation.

Shizuo moved the leather strap that held the butt plug in place, and if he could have, Izaya would have come then and there. Instead the cock ring ruthlessly kept him in check and the restraints prevented him from rubbing against the sheets.

"You wanted it this bad?" Shizuo didn't sound very pleased at that revelation, even as he grasped the end of the plug and twisted it back and forth. "Fucking disgusting louse…"

"Ah," Izaya breathed a laugh, arching back into the clumsy touch. The mere grazing of Shizuo's fingertips made his cock pound. "I love you too, Shizu-chan."

The next thing he knew, a large hand on the back of his neck pinned him hard to the bed, and Shizuo's voice sounded awfully far away.

"Don't ever say that again. Do you understand?"

Perhaps he should have made a joke out of it, teased as best he could while inhaling Shizuo's bed-sheets and said 'Ah, did Shizu-chan think I was serious?' But the tightness in Shizuo's quiet voice, the way every word sounded like a knock-down drag-out fight… it sounded like it mattered so much.

"All right," he agreed, trying to sound amiable and placating. "I'm sorry."

Evidently that didn't go down any better, judging from the string of expletives growled against the back of his neck. Against his better judgement, Izaya let himself wonder how Shizuo would sound, the things he might say if he was with someone he actually liked.

With little warning, the plug was yanked out hard and fast enough to make stars dance before his eyes. It was fortunate he could muffle the cry in the sheets, because if Shizuo figured out how much it hurt, no doubt his infuriating conscience would kick in and he'd stop.

_You can't stop, not now._

But it was still okay. He'd expected Shizuo's technique to be lacking, and even if it wasn't, Shizuo would hardly have treated him with tender care.

It was _okay_. He didn't want tender. Whatever Shizuo wanted to do to him was fine; pleasure, pain, anything, as long as it bound Shizuo to his side. The reason – the 'why' - mattered less than the outcome; as long as Shizuo couldn't let him go, the rest was irrelevant.

Thinking became all but irrelevant when Shizuo pushed his legs further apart, one hand gripping his hip hard enough to bruise, the other guiding himself into position. The blunt, hot head of his erection sliding against the lube left over from the plug made Izaya swell so hard against the cock ring he could barely breathe. He tried to push back but he had neither the leverage nor the strength to fight the hold Shizuo had on him.

"Please." He couldn't tell whether Shizuo was hesitating, but it was more likely than taking the time to tease. _"Please."_

Shizuo muttered something under a hoarse, shaky breath, and there was nothing hesitant about the way he drove his cock into Izaya's body on one fierce, relentless thrust. There was no time to adjust, no time to enjoy the slow stretching burn of penetration. He'd expected no less from a man whose general approach to life erred on the side of force rather than subtlety.

It occurred to him a little belatedly that the plug wasn't particularly adventurous; he should have gone up a size or three. His preparation might as well have been _no _preparation for the way it hurt, a blissful white-hot sting that made him feel more alive than any fight ever could even as it tore him apart.

But it was perfect. There was no other way, not with Shizu-chan.

"Well?" Shizuo's voice was a low, gruff vibration against the back of his neck, sending jolts of sensation down his spine. Every syllable punctuated another, rough thrust, each one going impossibly deep. "Is this what you wanted?"

Oh, God, couldn't he tell? Couldn't he feel it? Ah, but he never had, had he? Why should this be any different?

Closing his eyes against the sting of tears, he nodded. "Yes."

Shizuo made a sound as though he was the one in pain.

"Wrong fucking answer."

Gripping the thigh restraints, Shizuo jerked Izaya's hips higher, the new angle driving the relentless thrusts even deeper. Shizuo's cock slammed against his prostate with every stroke, and Izaya clung to the sheets, desperate to hang onto something when every nerve felt as though it was being blown apart.

His knees barely even touched the bed anymore; if it was anyone else he'd worry, but there was a strange sense of reassurance in being at the mercy of Shizuo's monstrous strength. Shizuo might hurt him in a million different ways, but he'd never let him fall.

_A little late for that, Shizu-chan…_

And despite it all, Shizuo obviously couldn't bring himself to touch him. Not that he needed to – enough sensation flooded every overwrought sense as it was: the rub of Shizuo's knuckles against the back of his thighs; the way his pants shifted against the inside of Izaya's knees as he moved; the heat of Shizuo's uneven breath against his spine.

It was already more than enough, he thought, blinking away the sweat that stung his eyes. It had been more than enough the moment Shizuo agreed.

Because there was no way he'd walk away now. Not after this. Even if he only felt a tenth of the things Izaya felt, surely he couldn't walk away.

Shizuo grunted, and the thigh restraints snapped on a bruising tug. Izaya revelled in the marks Shizuo was no doubt leaving on his body, marks he could admire tomorrow as proof this had happened at all. Marks of ownership, even if Shizu-chan didn't notice it yet. It didn't matter. He knew, that was enough.

"Shizu-chan…" Without thinking, he reached back, instincts needing to touch. His fingers got as far as grazing Shizuo's clothed hip before his wrist was caught and pinned back against the bed. "Shizu-chan—"

"Don't." Against his shoulder, he felt the tickle of sweat-damp hair as Shizuo shook his head. "Don't."

"But I—ah!"

Maybe he'd underestimated Shizuo's technique. At the first sharp snap of teeth at the juncture of his shoulder, the words just died on his lips. His body stilled, refusing to respond to anything he asked of it, as Shizuo's movements became more erratic, more frenzied, before freezing completely.

For someone who fought so passionately, holding so little back, Shizuo came with barely a sound. If not for the warm, slick sensation flooding deep inside, Izaya might not have known he _had._

_No… it's just that way for me. He hates that it's with _me.

His own body, however, spared little empathy for whatever emotional turmoil Shizuo might be experiencing. It had waited long enough, and feeling Shizuo come, feeling him withdraw just as roughly as he'd entered, it refused to take any more. It was all he could do to pound a fist weakly against the bed, hips trembling, words failing him for the first time he could remember as he tried to make Shizuo see, tried to make him understand-

He heard the sound of expensive leather being torn as if it was little more than party ribbons. There was a split second where he thought the cock ring would never release its hold, that the sensation would just spiral higher and higher till it killed him, and then nothing but the thunder of his heartbeat in his head, and dazzling white stars exploding in his vision. One climax crashed into another, pulses of come spattering against Shizuo's sheets, and he'd lost the strength even to hold himself upright long before his body finally wrung the last drop free.

He couldn't move, could barely think, but it occurred to him that getting everything he wanted, up to and including having his brains fucked out, shouldn't leave him this… dissatisfied. Maybe if Shizu-chan had just said his name, even if he'd so much as growled out "Flea" in those last blissful seconds…

No, it was enough like this. It was plenty.

By the time he regained a tenuous grip on reality, Shizuo was sitting on the edge of the bed, head bowed, shoulders tense. A single drop of sweat tracked its way down the broad, muscled expanse of his back and if Izaya thought he was capable of movement he might've been tempted to lean up and lick it away.

Before he could make good on that, his own aches be damned, Shizuo got up and removed the temptation.

"Shizu-chan..?"

Framed in the doorway, Shizuo just shook his head, not even looking back. "I need a cigarette."

It wasn't 'I'm not going anywhere', but it wasn't 'get the fuck out' again either. All things considered, Izaya chalked that up to a success.

Still, as he toyed with the broken, jagged remains of thick leather restraints, he kept an eye on the closed door. It felt like a very long time before his eyes finally drifted shut.

* * *

><p>Somewhere along the line, night had fallen. Shizuo hadn't noticed. Everything had gone a little bit dark in his head the moment he set foot in his bedroom.<p>

The world outside the window was a completely different animal at night. Night turned bleak, dirty grey into a riot of light and colour. A blinking neon sign down the street lit his room with alternating splashes of blue and pink, and it was plenty of light by which to find the discarded pack of cigarettes and his lighter.

He perched on the windowsill again, trying to ignore the strangely sated tingles still skittering through his body, and watched the smoke catch the multi coloured lights as it curled up towards the ceiling.

How was it even possible to keep making this many mistakes in one lifetime?

_I just fucked the flea. _

The thought still felt far too unreal, and muttering the same thing aloud was just… no. It wasn't even fucking, even if his dumb-as-shit body had quite merrily got its rocks off oblivious to whatever Izaya's scheme really was. He couldn't imagine either of them enjoyed whatever the hell just happened, whatever the flea said. The flea lied. A hell of a lot. Probably to himself most of all.

And the moment Shizuo was about to tell himself it had nothing to do with him anyway, every goddamned ridiculous thing the flea said replayed itself in his head.

_Maybe this is all my fault, too._

His bow tie lay on the floor, where it must have fallen earlier. He picked it up, letting it lay across his palm like a crumpled black butterfly. _Sorry, Kasuka. I tried taking care of this stuff, but…_

The man who could wear those clothes was gone. But maybe the thing left in his place could still do everyone a favour. Maybe he could still take responsibility for this mess before it caused any more damage.

He dug the box Celty gave him out of the bag, and removed the lid. The silver disk gleamed in the dim light as he lifted it out of the box, letting it dangle from its cord.

[You can take anything you choose with you, as long as it belongs to you.]

_"It's yours to do with as you will."_

Did that even count? Some stupid line of the louse's was hardly a binding contract. Still…

Ikebukuro would be better off without him, but happier still without either of them.

Izaya mumbled something when Shizuo returned to the bedroom and sat back down on the edge of the bed. In the rectangle of light from the open door, the marks on his pale skin stood out with even more prominence. Shizuo forced himself not to look away, to really look at the damage he'd done. The flea turned his way, still asleep, and smiled. Maybe, Shizuo thought wryly, he was dreaming about who's life he was gonna screw up next.

_I won't let you. If you're gonna fuck someone up, then just finish the job you started with me. That should be enough for you, right?_

Weird, though, the way Izaya's fingers almost linked with his when Shizuo wound one half of the cord around his wrist, twisting it, and looping the other half around his own.

Shizuo shook his head, shook off the stupid thoughts. Knowing his luck, he'd wake up in the same damn place tomorrow and the flea would think they were bound together for some fucked up and _meaningful_ reason. If he'd still be here by then; sneaking out in the middle of the night seemed much more his style, especially if the joke was over.

Either way, it was his fault and he'd deal with it.

But he couldn't help hoping as he closed his eyes that whatever happened, this would be the last mistake he made.


	5. Chapter 5

_Originally posted at the Drrr Kinkmeme on Livejournal. _

_The following story contains M/M - please don't read if that's not your thing. If it is, enjoy! ;)_

* * *

><p><span>Wherever You Will Go <span>

Chapter Five

Izaya woke squinting against bright sunshine.

He was still in Shizu-chan's bed, with its dark blue sheets. It still smelled like him. Izaya stretched, burying his face into the pillow and breathing deep. He didn't want to move yet, except to shift his hips, feeling the deep ache there as a reminder. The only way the morning could have been improved would be if Shizuo was still in bed with him, but considering he half expected not to wake up at all, this was a bonus.

He sat up, arms stretching above his head, working out the kinks and aches in his back. The broken chains of the handcuffs jingled, and…

…Hmm.

It was still Shizu-chan's bed, but this wasn't Shizu-chan's bedroom. It didn't even look like Shizu-chan's _apartment_. The bed took up most of the space, barely enough room either side to stand. Sunshine gleamed brightly off uneven whitewashed walls, the only window was a skylight high in the beamed ceiling. The sky through the glass looked awfully blue.

In the empty space Shizuo must have occupied, the sunlight caught on a silver disk on a black cord. Jewellery? It didn't seem Shizuo's style.

Interesting.

_So this is where you were going to go, Shizu-chan._

In the narrow gap between the bed and the wall, he could see the fur of his jacket peeking. It took a few tugs to free it, but fortunately it revealed the rest of his clothes and his bag squashed up against the wall. If he was here alone with Shizu-chan, he had no qualms about walking out just as he was just to see the look on the other man's face. However, since he had no idea where he was, clothed seemed more practical.

Besides, the way his clothes rubbed across bruises and grazes made his senses sing.

The door was already off its hinges, just splinters of wood where it should have been, and Izaya smiled.

Well, at least he knew where Shizu-chan went.

* * *

><p>Between waking up in a room that wasn't his, and waking up next to the flea, Shizuo couldn't tell which one was more unsettling. Worse, the way Izaya had made himself quite at home, sprawled at an almost diagonal angle that took up most of the bed.<p>

Goddamn flea, he couldn't even _sleep_ like normal people…

Squinting at the sunshine through his sunglasses, Shizuo blew a stream of smoke against the clear blue sky, and tried to stop thinking about Izaya – Izaya in _his bed _- long enough to appreciate the view in front of him.

There was a lot of green. A lot of sky. Ikebukuro it sure as fuck wasn't. Even his cigarettes tasted different. It was all so damn idyllic he could throw up.

Celty had been right about everything that belonged to him coming along for the ride. That might've worked out better if there'd been room in the cottage for even his sparse belongings. He'd cursed a blue streak just trying to get out of the door, because his couch and coffee table just turned into an obstacle course.

The shopping bags were still on the couch, too. He'd picked out a pair of jeans and a blue shirt, not particularly caring what they were as long as he didn't have to go out the door naked.

He needn't have worried. He'd already paced his way along the perimeter of the cottage, following the low stone wall that surrounded it, and the only living things he'd seen were a few birds. Not the sort of things that'd peck through restaurant litter in Ikebukuro's alleyways. Small things, little brown ones that greeted him with an alarmingly loud song. Tenacious, bold little things. He had no clue what they were, but he liked them already.

There was a path leading away from the cottage, curving down the slight gradient of a slope. He'd followed it as far as a narrow road, almost hidden from view by tall battalions of hedgerows on either side, before turning back, uneasy about leaving Izaya alone. No road signs, no cars. Hopefully his groceries made the journey, because he had no idea where to go to get more. If everything he owned came with, then there'd be a few days worth, at best.

Everything he owned. And the flea. Shizuo didn't even know what to think about that.

On perverse cue, the door opened behind him.

Just the awareness of Izaya's presence, the bug-under-a-microscope scrutiny of those red eyes, made him shiver. He'd always had an annoying sixth sense about that gaze, could tell it was watching him even when its owner was nowhere in sight. Even here, when there was so much else Izaya could be watching, he was just watching Shizuo, wordless and undemanding.

_Pisses me off…_

When he finally relented, turning around with a snarl of "What?" Izaya was, indeed staring at him, but with a surprised look Shizuo couldn't help think was just a _little_ misplaced.

"What are you wearing?"

"I do have other clothes, you know." Most of them, as of yesterday. But Izaya didn't need to know that. The flea was in his usual garb of black on black topped off with that fur trimmed coat. He hadn't given much thought to Izaya's things coming too – last he'd checked, Izaya came with leather and sex toys. All too literally, shit… – but he couldn't help feeling relieved. He wouldn't have known what to do with a buck naked flea besides lock him in the house.

_Or bend him over the bed again and fuck him till neither of you can move._

No. Not that.

"Hmm. They suit you."

Shizuo made a noncommittal sound. That was the good thing about the bartender uniform; he didn't need to give a shit whether it suited him. It was a uniform, an identity. It covered up a whole lot of things Shizuo was clueless about.

Hands in the pockets of his coat, making it swing around narrow hips with every light step, Izaya sauntered closer. He didn't seem to be moving with much difficulty, even if his steps were measured. But that might have had more to do with who he was approaching, rather than any pain the act caused. "Where are we?"

"Dunno."

[It'll take you home.]

Shizuo had nowhere in particular in mind last night; there wasn't even a spa town or hot springs where he'd been on vacation once that came to mind as an ideal destination. So he figured the magic had just taken him wherever it came from. And if it was Celty's, then…

"Ireland, maybe, I don't know."

"Ireland." Izaya repeated, in the same tone he might've used if Shizuo just said 'the moon'. Given the circumstances, Shizuo couldn't really blame him. For plenty of other shit, yeah, for this, not so much. "Hmm. I didn't think Shizu-chan fucked me _that_ hard."

Shizuo grimaced. He didn't particularly need another reminder that they'd fucked _at all_, not when his body had been on a strange edge ever since Izaya came out of the door. "Shut up."

"So how did we get here?" Izaya mused. Something glittered in the sun, and Shizuo watched the flea dangle the silver disk from one slender finger, letting it twist like a mobile. "I wonder. Ah, don't worry Shizu-chan; I've seen stranger things than this."

No doubt, even if Shizuo had no inclination to find out what they were. This was Izaya, for fucks' sakes. Strange attracted strange.

Still, he snatched the pendant back, shoving it into his pocket. Hell knew where the flea would try to go if he was left to his own devices with something like that…

"You seem remarkably calm, Shizu-chan."

"Why not? I don't care where I am, as long as there's no one else here to hurt."

"Well," Izaya smiled ruefully, "in that case I'm glad I can be of some use to you." Shizuo didn't bother correcting him; let the flea think whatever he wanted. If he wanted to imagine shit that made him look that fucking _sad, _then it was his own damn choice. "Although…" The familiar smirk was back in place, as though any hint of vulnerability was nothing more than a figment. "I am good for other things too, right?"

Shizuo blamed the fact he'd been thinking about Izaya's mouth for the memory of the same lips wrapped tight around him, that clever tongue never stopping, never slowing, just lapping and sucking as though he was the most delicious thing in the world.

He inhaled sharply in an attempt to distract himself, but the smoke went down the wrong way and he found himself cough himself to tears on a cigarette for the first time since he'd started the habit. Izaya looked at him curiously, before turning his attention back to the empty pastoral landscape.

"There must be a town or something nearby, right? I mean, you have electricity and running water, you can't be that cut off from civilization."

"Wouldn't care if we were."

"But that's hardly practical, Shizu-chan. Unless you plan on rearing chickens or something."

"You know, you can always leave. Bet it won't take you long to find some poor idiot who'll take you to the nearest airport." Wherever it was. There weren't even any telltale contrails in the cloudless sky.

Izaya sighed the long suffering sigh of those perpetually dealing with idiots. "Haven't we done this _twice,_ now? I don't want to leave. Some warning might've been nice, I could have packed better clothes, cancelled my newspapers… I'm joking, Shizu-chan."

"Yeah, whatever."

"It's true. I'm happy as long as I'm with Shizu-cha-!"

The last syllable was just a choked puff of air from the flea's lips as Shizuo shoved him back against the side of the house, one hand around a slender, pale throat. Mostly pale; thanks to the wide collar of Izaya's shirt and that coat hanging half off his shoulders, there was no disguising the bruises, the marks, the red crescent of a bite.

"Stop. I've had enough, just _stop._"

_Please._

He felt Izaya swallow, throat moving against his palm. A pulse raced against his fingers. His, Izaya's, he couldn't tell. Somehow he doubted anything could make the flea's heart race like that.

"But that's why I'm here, right?" Izaya watched him with heavy-lidded eyes that had darkened to black cherries, a lazy catlike smile curving his lips. As though Shizuo couldn't have snapped his neck like a twig at any given second, he reached out, hands settling on Shizuo's hips, fingers hooking in his belt loops. "So I can be useful."

An innocent word like 'useful' should never have sounded so fucking… _wrong._

Izaya tugged him a little closer, and as off-kilter as he was Shizuo went with it. Looking ridiculously pleased with himself, Izaya let go only to slide his hands along the low-slung waist of Shizuo's jeans.

He should have moved. Stopped it. He could have taken a step back, out of reach. He could have tightened his fingers around Izaya's neck. There were a hundred things he could have done – should have done - rather than just watch Izaya's eyes while the other man unfastened his jeans, long cool fingers sliding under the heavy fabric.

His cock reacted as though it had already become addicted to Izaya's touch. Just the brush of fingertips made him stiffen, made his breath catch.

"It feels good, doesn't it?" Izaya's voice was little more than a whisper. His hand worked its way deeper, palm rubbing the underside of Shizuo's cock, fingers wrapping like brands of fire around his shaft. He stroked, once, _hard_, and made a soft, pleased sound at the way Shizuo's hips rocked into the movement of their own accord. "You don't have to hold back, Shizu-chan. You can just close your eyes and enjoy it. Didn't I tell you I'd be anything you wanted?"

He watched the rise and fall of Izaya's chest, his own breathing unconsciously falling in sync. This close, Izaya still smelt of sex, leather and heat. Shizuo caught himself before he leaned, pressed his face into the curve of Izaya's shoulder and just breathed him in.

_It wouldn't be so bad,_ a little voice cajoled. _Who wouldn't want sex on tap? And he is good at it, you can't deny that. If he just shut up, if you could just pretend it's not him making you—_

_Fuck…_

"Wait—ow!" Izaya hissed a breath as Shizuo grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand away.

"I said I've had enough."

Cradling his wrist to his chest, Izaya glared at him, and something in Shizuo relaxed infinitesimally. Better. He could deal with that look. He could _breathe_with that look.

"Go," he had to swallow past the dryness of his throat, turning away from Izaya and zipping his jeans back up. Easier said than done when the flea'd left him half hard, and sensitive even to his own rough touch. "Go and clean up. There's a bathroom. No shower, but everything works."

"But you're—"

"I want to figure out where we are. You're not coming with me smelling like some cheap-ass whore. Go and clean up."

He wasn't good with insults he had to think about. Usually they were part and parcel of the rage, and the only recollection he had of whatever he'd said came back to him in fragments, like a bad hangover. But if it made Izaya keep his distance, even his half-assed attempts would be enough.

It wasn't just Izaya he couldn't recognize last night. He didn't want any more reason to be that man.

Izaya stopped at the door. "Why _did_ you bring me?"

Shizuo had no answer. Too many answers. None of them make the first fucking bit of sense, so he dredged up the one that sounded least hollow.

"Seemed safer than leaving you behind."

"Ah." Izaya nodded. "I understand."

Shizuo waited till the door shut, before leaning his head back against the cold stone wall and closing his eyes.

_Good thing one of us does._

* * *

><p>When he'd finished washing off himself, and checking the inventory for the things they were going to run out of first, Izaya was back in the garden. He leaned against the stone wall, face upturned towards the sun, a contented smile on his face, and Shizuo found himself thinking he'd just intruded on something he shouldn't.<p>

He cleared his throat, as though Izaya had no idea he was there. Stupid. The little shit knew everything he did. There had been days when Shizuo was _that close _to going to Shinra and asking whether there was some sort of tracking device in his ass.

"You, uh… look like you're getting used to it. Here, I mean."

"Mmm. I suppose you could have picked worse." Izaya pushed away from the wall, half-spinning before crouching next to a sprawling tangle of white flowers around the base of a tree. "It's pretty here, at least. Sometimes a break from the city is good. Healthy. And it's always good to try new things, ne? Do you know what these are?"

Even if he'd been trying to follow Izaya's ramblings, Shizuo would've been lost somewhere around "I". Shrugging he took a deep drag on a new cigarette, and grunted, "Flowers."

Izaya looked up at him, almost pouting. "How do you even _survive _being this uncultured?"

"What the fuck, flowers aren't culture. They're…" he waved a hand in their direction. "Flowers."

"They're anemones." Izaya turned back to the flowers, that odd half-smile, half-frown expression on his face. "Supposedly they mean 'forsaken'. But Shizu-chan hasn't forsaken me, right? Because here we are. So maybe this time they stand for 'anticipation'."

Yeah, that sounded about right. Shizuo was certainly anticipating disaster. He glanced at Izaya over the top of his sunglasses, as the other man's attention was drawn to a smaller patch of small yellow flowers. Tch. What _anticipating _disaster; there it was, dressed in a trashy furred parka and cooing at flowers.

But what harm could Izaya do here? What harm could either of them do? Oh, he wouldn't count it out entirely, but shit… the odds were reduced to negligible. Hard to kill the flea with street signs when he couldn't even see a street.

Izaya picked one of the yellow flowers, twirling it between thumb and index finger as he strolled closer. "This is a primrose." He held it out for Shizuo's inspection… or maybe as an offering, he couldn't tell. Either way, he kept his free hand in the pocket of his jeans, the other fixed fast to the cigarette. He didn't want anything Izaya had to offer.

"What does that one mean?"

"Ah…" Izaya lowered his hand, but not before lowering his gaze. "You know. I'm not sure. Heh, you caught me out Shizu-chan, maybe I'm not that cultured either, ne?"

"Whatever." Shizuo stubbed out the cigarette on the gravelly path, and stalked towards the road. "Let's go. I don't know how far we're gonna have to walk."

Izaya nodded, but before he followed he dug something out of his pocket, messed around with it for a moment.

"Oi. Let's go. Or you can stay behind, I don't care."

"No, I'm coming. I was just checking whether my cell phone worked, but it's not picking up a signal. I'll have to pick up a new one."

"What for?"

Izaya shoved whatever he held back into his pocket, and smiled. "Emergencies."

"Don't piss me off, and there won't be any."

They must have walked a good three or four miles before the rumbling of a vehicle sounded along the road. Shizuo had all but given up on running into anyone, the idea of really being isolated in the middle of nowhere growing more and more appealing. The sight of the small bus was kind of disappointing.

Izaya on the other hand, saw fit to step into the middle of the road and wave the bus down.

"Shit, you think he wasn't gonna see you?" Shizuo stalked towards the bus, trying to keep a rein on his temper. It wasn't even Izaya, not really, just the annoying realization that he wasn't as alone as he'd hoped. Maybe he couldn't be, not really, not if he feasibly wanted to live.

Or he could follow Izaya's advice and get chickens. How hard could it be?

"So we're just going to get on?"

"Yeah."

"And how are we going to pay? Where ever we are, I doubt they lay on free public transport."

"…"

Shit. But it was all Izaya's fault; given the extra couple of days Shizuo'd intended to take before leaving, surely all this would've occurred to him. Or Celty would've told him, same thing.

"So you don't know where you are, you have no money…" Izaya shook his head and sighed again. "Well, it's a good thing you have me then, isn't it?"

_I don't have you. I don't want you. _

Izaya tapped on the door of the bus, stepping back as it whooshed open.

"Oi, flea, what are you doing?"

Izaya looked back at him, and Shizuo could have sworn the other man's brow twitched, just a little. Through a gritted-teeth smile, Izaya sounded frighteningly cheery. "Do you even speak passable English, Shizu-chan?"

"I…" …Fuck it.

"There you are, then." Izaya turned back to the driver, beamed, and began speaking in a language and accent Shizuo had only heard before on subtitled TV shows. "I'm sorry about my friend. He's just jet-lagged. Really badly jet-lagged, which makes him grumpy. So if you'd be so kind as to take us to the nearest town that'd be great."

"It's about seven miles," the driver shrugged. "It'll be five Euros for both of you."

"Ah, you see we have a slight cashflow problem." Izaya dug his wallet from his coat pocket, opened it, and flashed a dazzling array of internationally acceptable credit cards. Shizuo wondered if any of them were even legal, whether any of them were in his real name.

And he thought he saw the flash of something small and yellow, tucked into one of the folds of the wallet, but Izaya had closed it again before he could tell for sure.

"If you can take me to an ATM I'll pay you double. And hey, I'll even leave my friend here on the bus as collateral so you know I won't just run off."

"What did you just say about me?" The words might've gone over his head, but Izaya pointing in his direction was never a good thing as far as Shizuo was concerned.

"Ah, don't see why not." The bus driver nodded. "Hop on."

"Thank you, sir!"

Making his way to the back seat, Izaya bounded onto it like a kid, peering out of the back window. Shizuo followed, bracing himself on the back of the seats when the bus lurched into life again.

"Bus fare, who cares." Izaya smiled up at him, and fucking _giggled_. "Rendering Shizu-chan speechless at the fact the rest of the world is far advanced than his protozoan brain, priceless."

"Fuck you, flea."

"That's the idea," Izaya agreed mildly, turning to gaze out of the window. "But Shizu-chan doesn't want to."

Shizuo let his forehead smack into the seat in front of him. It was going to be a long fucking six miles.


	6. Chapter 6

_Originally posted at the Drrr Kinkmeme on Livejournal. _

_The following story contains M/M - please don't read if that's not your thing. If it is, enjoy! ;)_

* * *

><p><span>Wherever You Will Go <span>

Chapter Six_  
><em>

Town turned out to be a grocery store, a gift store, and a bar – "No, no, Shizu-chan, it's a _pub_!" – and a bunch of people who stared at him like he was the weirdest thing they'd ever seen. Like they'd never seen a tall, blond Japanese guy wearing sunglasses, a cigarette and a scowl before, fuck…

"Let's just get this over with before they call the cops or something."

"Well, Shizu-chan is…" Izaya paused, pondered, and Shizuo found himself dreading what might come out of his mouth. "Distinctive. And you need to stop glowering at everyone. You're scaring the natives."

Shizuo didn't think there was much point arguing, even if he thought it had less to do with the glowering and more to do with people's instinctive awareness of shit they should stay away from. Like rabid dogs and broken glass and poisonous plants that were just too pretty.

He glared at his reflection in a shop window, and at Izaya, skipping happily ahead of him like an overly enthusiastic tourist.

Yeah, he'd stick to the glowering.

Izaya on the other hand… Shizuo'd been watching the entire time and he still couldn't tell how Izaya did it. How he had the entire damn town eating out of his hand in ten seconds flat. From the lady at the grocery store where he bought too many tins of tuna – "I want to see if I can pretend it's ootoro" - to the girl at the gift shop – "Ne, wouldn't Shizu-chan like to see me in an apron with a leprechaun on the front?"- and even the old guy sitting outside the b- the _pub, _who looked at though he'd rather eat his glass than talk to strangers.

He couldn't tell what the ulterior motive was, either, just that there had to be one. Izaya wouldn't ingratiate himself with anyone for no reason.

Even if he give Izaya the benefit of the doubt, it only raised more questions; like why, when you could make someone laugh and smile and open up like that, would you actively choose to be a trolling asshole? He'd spent his life trying not to hurt people, and Izaya turned it into a sport for his own entertainment. Obviously he didn't need to; obviously there must have been something about Izaya's first impression that elicited reactions that didn't involve bodily harm, even if Shizuo had never seen it.

He fished a carton of milk out of the grocery bags, twisted off the cap and took a long swig while Izaya gave one last wave to his new friends.

"Oi, if you can stop flirting long enough d'you think you can remember I'm not here to bond with the neighbours?"

"Flirting?" Izaya tilted his head. "Is Shizu-chan jealous?"

Shizuo almost choked on his milk. "No."

"No…" Izaya laughed a little. "And here I was, trying to organize your various states of `pissed off` into some kind of system. But if you had been paying attention instead of moping around and drawing far more attention to us than I ever could, you'd know I haven't told anyone a thing. Not who we are, where we're from, where we're staying… well, I don't actually know where we're staying, so that'd be hard. Speaking of which, do you even know how to get back?"

Somehow the conversation had steered its way – again – from Izaya's faults to his own. Shit, the flea was good at this crap. If he could just be straightforward for one damn minute, maybe Shizuo'd stand a chance.

_"I'll be anything you want me to be."_

Fuck, no. Straightforward Izaya was even worse.

"We'll catch the bus back to where it picked us up," he said. "I'll figure it out from there."

"Ah, well Donal said it should be back in about twenty minutes. Which makes sense, because Anna said that's the bus her boyfriend usually takes when he comes by to see her."

For a second, Shizuo thought Izaya might've started speaking a foreign language again. _"…What?"_

"Donal." Izaya pointed at the old guy outside the pub. "Anna." He canted his head towards the gift shop. "Really, are you paying attention to anything?"

"Yeah, well, how the fuck was I supposed to know?" Shizuo stalked off for a few steps before stopping, reeling back around. "If you… however you're planning on playing these people, I won't let you."

"Oh? And you're going to protect them from me, is that it?"

"If I have to."

"Well you don't. I was just making conversation. It's something those of us with social skills do, though I can see how that might confuse you." Izaya sat down on the bench, grocery bags either side of him, and if anyone had asked Shizuo a week ago to describe the most outlandish scenario he could imagine, it might look something like this. "Ah, but I can understand your concern. Go and ask them if you don't believe me. I haven't blackmailed dear Donal into a life of crime, nor is Anna intending to throw herself from a building. Well, as far as I know, but working in that shop can't be good for her self-esteem…"

Still standing, Shizuo looked down at him. "So you're only trolling me right now, huh?"

Arms stretching along the back of the bench, Izaya leaned his head back and smiled. "Well… You're the only thing currently occupying my attention, if that's what you mean."

"Well, good."

"Ah, Shizu-chan's coming around, I'm so glad!" Only when Izaya's smile widened did Shizuo realize he'd been talked into another damn corner. He scowled again, and Izaya held his hands up in a mock-placating gesture. "I'm joking, I'm joking."

But what if he wasn't? What if he _really_ wasn't?

Shizuo took off his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling the first stirrings of a headache. Stupid. Of course he was.

Izaya started humming something off-key, but it seemed the conversation was done. Willing himself not to say something else that would break the blessed silence, Shizuo replaced the glasses, and leaned against the edge of the bench while he looked back on the village.

Would they have been the same people if they'd been born here instead? Was there, somewhere in this tranquil, tiny place, a boy who'd just discovered he had more power than he knew what to do with? Who'd just realized everything he'd ever wished for that was _normal_ would never be for the likes of him? Was there a kid who'd just learnt that the only thing he could do was _hurt?_

_I fucking hope not… _

A delivery truck trundled its way towards the centre of the village – bread, or vegetables or something, he couldn't make out the writing on the side – but as it turned the corner towards the stores, a car backed up out of a side street, cutting right into its path. The truck driver braked hard, horn blaring.

And like that, Shizuo was back in Ikebukuro. Back on a grey street on a grey day, listening to the sound of breaking metal, breaking glass, breaking—

_No…!_

He was already halfway towards the scene when the picture shifted; it was a quiet road in another country again. The sun was slipping behind a puffy white cloud, the birds were singing. There was no metal, no glass. The truck and the car hadn't even been going fast enough to bump each other. Both drivers were leaning out of their windows; they obviously recognized each other. They shared some good-natured joke before getting back in their respective vehicles. The car drove away, and the truck rounded the corner and parked in front of the grocery store.

Life went on.

Shizuo still couldn't breathe. If he clenched his fists any tighter, he'd break his fingers, and the chill clawing at his spine wouldn't go away.

_It's okay. It's fine. Everyone's okay. It's nothing like that day, nothing…_

"Shizu-chan?" He didn't see Izaya get up; he just seemed to materialize at his side, one hand on his arm. "Hey… are you all right?"

Maybe it was the sunshine, the way the clouds cleared and the breeze died down. Maybe it was just the fact he'd started breathing again. Maybe it was a lot of things, but it sure as hell wasn't that touch that allowed the warmth of the day to seep back into his bones. It wasn't. It couldn't have been, because Izaya didn't do things like that. Shizuo broke things, and Izaya did his best to ensure they stayed that way, that was how it always worked. The idea of the flea offering something as human as _comfort_ was just…

He shifted out of Izaya's reach, shrugging off the lingering memory, scrubbing his hands over his face.

It was okay. He was still here, this was still real.

"Yeah. It just… surprised me, that's all."

Izaya arched a brow. "It surprised you. Okay. Look, you don't have to—"

"Forget it. It's nothing."

He could see Izaya warring with the overpowering urge to just keep talking. There might have been a miraculous triumph for common sense over the flea's ego, but they'd never know; the wheezing rumble of the bus slowing down behind him had to be the sweetest sound Shizuo had ever heard.

By the time they got off the bus, the flea's mood seemed to have brightened again, as he skipped down the narrow country lane in a rustle of grocery bags and a flutter of fur. It was a little disconcerting seeing Izaya so… _happy _in an environment where he didn't have his information network plugged into his veins via a cell phone or a laptop.

Still… the first Izaya he'd ever met cut through his defences with nothing more than a flick blade and a smile. The other things were just accessories, shiny baubles that distracted from the fact the flea was damn dangerous all by himself.

Either way, it was something outside himself to focus on; his thoughts still felt a little jagged, a little disjointed, exhausted in ways he could never remember feeling until recently. He felt like he'd just been in a fight, but no one had bruises to show for it.

When they arrived back at the cottage, Izaya busied himself with unpacking the crazy amount of stuff he'd managed to buy in a place with just two stores – "But if Shizu-chan wants to keep trips to a minimum, this is only sensible." – while Shizuo couldn't summon the will to do more than sprawl on the couch.

_So fucking tired…_

He'd hoped he might sleep better here, but that had been before he needed to account for these sleeping arrangements; he had a feeling that sleeping next to Izaya wouldn't be restful, for any number of reasons. Ah, Izaya could have the bed; the couch was comfortable enough for him.

Comfortable enough that he let his eyes drift shut as he listened to Izaya taking it upon himself to rearrange the kitchen.

"I'll pay you back," he mumbled. "For the food and everything."

"Ah, don't worry about it. Besides, I can hardly let myself starve too, right?" There was a creak, and he imagined Izaya peering critically at the cupboards. "Let's see, what can I make…?"

"Just use whatever you want." Which was dumb, because Izaya paid for it all. He should let Shizuo starve, it would make more sense.

"But Shizu-chan needs to eat too. You're not hungry?"

_Stop. Stop making me think you really give a shit. _

"No. And I don't want a fricking maid, either. Stop fussing around like someone's goddamn wife."

He heard the slow, measured sound of Izaya closing the cupboard, footsteps moving across the kitchen tiles. "Then what do you want?"

Good question. He'd thought he just wanted away, but so far that wasn't turning out so well.

"I want you to quit pretending everything's okay."

Silence. When he opened his eyes, Izaya was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, gaze fixed on the floor.

"I don't have to pretend. When are you going to get it, this is okay for me."

"I don't see how it could be."

"Because I'm with you. Because you're…" Izaya's hands tightened on the edge of the table, as he shook his head. "Like you said, I could easily leave if I didn't want to be here. I know you don't believe me, and that's okay. Heh, I probably wouldn't believe me either, and I'm a hundred times smarter than a Neanderthal like Shizu-chan, so…"

"Yeah, sure you are."

"Well, whatever. It's… okay. Really, it is. I mean, Ikebukuro wouldn't be any fun without you."

"You really need someone to explain 'fun' to you properly."

Izaya's gaze flicked up, sly and teasing from under his lashes. "Are you offering?"

"Like hell I am."

"So uptight, Shizu-chan. It's not good for you. You know, you'd feel better if you just relaxed."

He should have expected the hand on his thigh, sliding slowly, inexorably upward. His body certainly attuned itself to the touch, clearly not caring who was responsible. He felt himself harden as Izaya's fingers dipped between his thighs, thumb tracing the growing bulge straining against the front of his jeans. The other hand joined the first, this one sliding under the hem of his shirt, working on the buttons of his fly.

"Hey…"

Izaya paused, hands stilling, and looked up. Wanting, waiting for something. Waiting for 'don't', or 'stop' or any of the other highly effective attempts Shizuo made to get him to quit. Right. Izaya didn't know the meaning of the word, and Shizuo was just… tired. Tired, and angry and longing just for one damn second where he could forget why he was either.

Draping an arm across his eyes, his bit back the frustrated growl. Maybe the damn flea was right, maybe if he could just relax…

"Make it good."

The flea damn near purred. "Always, Shizu-chan."

He felt Izaya lean forward, and Shizuo shivered at the hot, open mouthed kisses pressed to his stomach. Cool fingers hooked beneath the waist of his pants, and he lifted his hips to make it easier to Izaya to work the material down to his thighs.

_Make it easier for him to fuck me over, somehow. _

But that thought didn't linger. Neither did the one about how good his bare skin felt against the couch. There wasn't much space for thought when Izaya's mouth closed around him, all hot breath and wet tongue. Every sweep, every stroke drew sparked shards of pleasure through Shizuo's spine, made his body rock involuntarily against the hands and lips working him. It felt like Izaya was everywhere, enveloping him, not just touching him but under his skin, coaxing his nerves to just give up and enjoy themselves.

He didn't want to look, but he couldn't help it. His imagination was torturing him anyway, what difference would it make?

Izaya had his eyes closed, a tiny furrow of concentration between his brows. It deepened every time he bobbed his head, making a soft, pleased humming sound in the back of his throat. His lips shone with saliva, a tiny trickle sliding from the corner of his mouth as he sucked, dribbling down over his fingers.

The damn flea had no right looking that good.

He grabbed a handful of Izaya's hair, tugging his head back. Letting go of his arousal with one last, slow lick and the faintest scrape of teeth, Izaya looked up at him expectantly. Shizuo loosened his hold, horrified at the way his fingers wanted to curl against Izaya's cheek.

_I don't know what the fuck you _want _from me. _

But at least he knew Izaya could do this, that he could do this. Sitting up, he lowered a hand to stroke himself, and waited till Izaya got to his feet.

"Get undressed."

Izaya closed his eyes, and shivered. He opened his mouth to say something, a little breathless, before evidently thinking better of it.

_Good. Whatever it is, I don't want to hear it._

That dark red gaze never left his as Izaya undressed, clothes tossed aside haphazardly. Yesterday's marks still stood out against his skin, but that didn't make it any less luminous. Maybe the light was just better here. There was a brief, terrifying second where he wondered whether Izaya's skin tasted as creamy as it looked, but he ruthlessly forced the thought down. What the fuck did he care how Izaya tasted?

Naked, shamelessly hard, Izaya watched him, waited.

Shizuo indicated the empty side of the couch with a tilt of the head. "On your knees."

He thought Izaya exhaled a soft, shaky breath, before doing as he was told. Forearms against the armrest, he spread his knees as far as the couch allowed, ass raised, and looked over his shoulder. "Is that what you wanted?"

Shizuo didn't reply. A dumbfuck question like that didn't deserve an answer, and anyway… hearing his own voice saying "yes" wasn't something he wanted to consider.

He parted Izaya's cheeks with his thumbs, raking nothing but his gaze down the crease between; Izaya reacted as though it was a physically touch, hips jerking, hole twitching. He was a responsive little bastard, that was for sure. Shizuo figured if anyone wasn't hard up for sex, it'd be the flea, but to look at him now it was easy to mistake him for someone who hadn't been touched for years.

"Please…" Izaya began, before his shoulders tensed, head lowering. "Sorry. I just want-"

Shizuo brushed a fingertip against that tight ring of muscle, pressing against it experimentally, feeling it flutter against his touch.

"You wanted that, flea?"

Izaya just nodded, sucking in uneven breaths. Still rubbing his finger back and forth, Shizuo pressed his free hand to Izaya's lips, a demand for entry that was immediately granted. Izaya's tongue snaked its way around the intrusion, as wet and hot as it had been around his cock.

_Shit…_

He had no idea whether his fingers were wet enough, but if Izaya kept sucking on them like that this'd be over much too soon. Izaya tried to nip at his fingers when he withdrew them, lining them up against that tight, twitching muscle instead, and pushed.

Izaya cried out, a carelessly desperate sound that went straight to Shizuo's cock. Fuck, it might as well _be_ his cock buried in Izaya's ass for the way it gripped him, held him, wouldn't let go.

"Fuck, flea…" he growled, trying to twist his fingers. "Gonna need my hand tomorrow, you know…"

"Hnn…" Izaya breathed a laugh, rotating his hips as he pushed back. "You can smoke with the other hand, Shizu-chan."

"Smart fucking bastard…" But it wasn't working. Izaya wouldn't let him move, and Shizuo didn't know what the hell he was doing anyway. He couldn't thrust very deep past the friction, and this stupid fumbling couldn't be doing much for either of them.

"My bag…" Izaya mumbled against his forearm. "There's lube. Because Shizu-chan's big, and it's—ah!—easier."

It took a second or two for the words to filter through, but when they did Shizuo stilled.

"Then… last time, I…"

_Hurt you._

Izaya wasn't even listening, too busy still grinding back against Shizuo's unmoving fingers. "Nn… Shizu-chan?"

He removed his fingers roughly, making Izaya gasp, and got to his feet.

"Doesn't matter." And it didn't, because this was the flea, and hurting was all Shizuo was good for anyway. There was an odd calm in that knowledge.

Izaya looked over his shoulder, frowned. "Wait, don't go, I didn't—"

Shizuo shook his head, trying not to notice how Izaya relaxed. "Lube, right?"

"Ah… okay."

It took far too long to open the bag, and dump its contents onto the bed. Whatever torture devices he'd expected to tumble out along with the lube never did; just another cell phone, a couple of pen drives and an mp3 player with pink headphones. Disarmingly ordinary things that, for reasons he couldn't begin to explain, made Shizuo's chest tighten.

_Goddamn stupid flea… what were you thinking? _

When he returned to the couch, Izaya was still where he'd left him, bent over against the armrest. His gaze followed Shizuo's approach, but otherwise he hadn't moved. He knelt back behind the other man, one knee on the couch, the other foot braced on the floor.

This time his fingers slid inside with little resistance, the slickness of the gel turning the heat of Izaya's body fever hot. When Izaya shifted his weight onto one arm, Shizuo expected him to reach down and stroke himself – a thought that made his own cock pound, thighs tensing – but instead Izaya was reaching back for _him_.

_Why? Why the fuck do you want this so much?_

He caught Izaya's hand before it could touch, remembering last time, remembering the current that had snapped through him at the sensation.

There was nothing else within reach – fuck if he was letting go _again_- so he tugged his shirt over his head, gripped the collar with slippery fingers, and ripped. The shirt tore like it was made of paper. He hauled Izaya up against him, trying to ignore the way the flea squirmed, back arching against Shizuo's chest, and wound one half of the torn shirt around his wrists. Izaya stopped squirming, instead leaning back against Shizuo's shoulder, turning his head, licking the side of his neck.

Without thinking, he leaned into it. Izaya licked again, and smiled against his skin.

"Mmm, Shizu-chan…"

That voice. That needed to go too, before it weaselled its way into his senses, dug in its claws and wouldn't let go.

Izaya didn't seem quite as pleased when Shizuo tied the other half of his shirt around his mouth, silencing the words if not the noises. He could deal with the noises, as long as he didn't have to listen to more of Izaya's lies and false platitudes.

_"I don't have to pretend."_

"Shut up…" He shoved Izaya's head down against the cushions. "Just… please, shut up."

Izaya muffled something against the makeshift gag, but the puzzled mumbles turned to a low, mind-numbing moan when Shizuo slicked himself up with the leftover lube, pressed the head of his cock against Izaya's ass, and edged his way inside.

A part of him had sort of hoped the memory his body held of being inside Izaya was some kind of aberration, a hallucination brought on by not getting laid nearly enough. No one's body should be that hot, that tight, flexing and rippling around him and drawing him in deep like it couldn't get enough of him.

No one should want him that much.

But it was fine, since Izaya didn't. Izaya wanted _something_, that was for sure, but it wasn't him. At least not like this, not really.

There were already finger-sized bruises on Izaya's pale, narrow hips, so it was easy to just hold on again, to set up a hard, punishing rhythm that made the couch squeak against the floor with every thrust. There was something almost pleading in Izaya's muffled cries, but he forced himself not to listen.

"You wanted to be useful, right?" He ground out, eyes squeezed shut as if he could somehow block out the way Izaya looked beneath him, the way his cock slid hilt-deep into the other man's ass. "Maybe you are good for something."

He felt the shudder run through Izaya a moment before the heat around him became even tighter, almost to the point of pain. Good. Exchange was no robbery or some such shit, right? Izaya's cries were almost sobs, deep and breathless as his body tensed.

And it occurred to Shizuo that he'd never even touched Izaya, not once. Hadn't needed to. A small sliver of his brain that was still rational thought that it might be a good time for another round of insults – because Izaya would, given this much ammunition – but his mouth wouldn't form the words. Something about the way Izaya's shoulders were trembling, the way his body tensed now at every one of Shizuo's thrusts, and insulting – hurting – was the last thing on Shizuo's mind.

_Fucking idiot, this is what he wants you to think…!_

He felt the sweat trickling down his back, felt his grip on Izaya's hips faltering, and then nothing but the shattering chain-reaction of sensation wrenching from deep in the base of his spine, molten and electric. Izaya still met him, thrust for erratic thrust, until he was empty. Empty and just… hollowed out.

Still, not empty enough, not when the guilt, the anger, the sheer hopelessness of not knowing what the fuck he was meant to do with this chased away the aftershocks of orgasm.

He pulled out, slumping back against the other end of the couch, just trying to catch his breath. Izaya murmured something behind the gag, turning onto his side, chest rising and falling in a fast, staccato rhythm.

Another mistake. And there was no way to justify it except—

No. No exceptions. No reasons. Just another mistake. He couldn't do this; it'd be better for them both if Izaya really did find someone to take him to an airport as quickly as possible, because if this went on…

_Fuck._

By the time he looked up, Izaya's eyes were closed, dampness still clinging to his lashes. Shizuo ran a hand over his face, tried to gather his scattered thoughts. Even if he had no idea what he was doing, he couldn't just sit here forever.

He could unfasten the gag, but Izaya was already curled up and it would have been impossible to untie his hands without waking him up. Shizuo figured that the shirt was soft enough and he hadn't tied it _that _tight, probably… ah, it'd be fine.

Because he didn't want Izaya to wake up, didn't want him to look up with those lazy, sly eyes and smile, and say all the things Shizuo didn't want to hear.

_I don't trust you. But more than that, I don't trust_ me_ when I'm around you._

He pulled one of the sheets off the bed, draping it over the ridiculously fragile looking body curled up on the couch. He almost reached out to brush away a lock of hair that had fallen into Izaya's eyes, but stopped himself. That was something lovers would do. People who liked each other. It wasn't something for them.

Back in the bedroom, he stared up at the darkening sky through the window above, and listened to Izaya shuffling in his sleep.

Maybe these sleeping arrangements were okay too.


	7. Chapter 7

_Originally posted at the Drrr Kinkmeme on Livejournal. _

_The following story contains M/M - please don't read if that's not your thing. If it is, enjoy! ;)_

* * *

><p><span>Wherever You Will Go <span>

Chapter Seven_  
><em>

_It starts the same way it always does. Like a movie he's seen so often he can recite the actors' lines._

_Ikebukuro. Day. A street scene. For some reason everything's in black and white. No, everything's in shades of grey, and all the more sharply defined for it. Grey tombstone slabs of buildings. Grey rivers of streets. Grey people._

_Except for him, and that's always struck him as odd because for the most part he is in black and white. Bartender-san._

_But he's not. He can feel it in his blood. A beast. Not even human._

_And there's prey. A red-eyed, bloodsucking demon that always stays just out of reach._

_Red eyes and then red mist._

_He can feel the wind, feel the grey ribbon road unfurling under his feet, but it doesn't feel like real movement. Like he's on one of those conveyer belt people-movers at airports. He can stop this time, look around at his leisure while the other side of him is still engaged in the chase._

_Just people, doing what they always do. The same thing they did last time, the same thing they'll do next time._

_Then it feels like the conveyer belt's stopped. The flea's there, right in front of him, and rage is squeezing the air from his lungs because occasionally the image slips, breaks, like a badly tuned TV and he's not looking at the flea anymore but at himself._

_End it. It has to end._

_He reaches for the closest thing. Same thing it always is. The stop sign breaks off in his hands like the stem of a flower._

_Stop sign. But he doesn't stop, never stops. Just chases after the flea, always out of reach._

_And then there's just noise. Metal creaks and shrieks beyond its natural bounds. Glass shatters. Breaks squeal. Someone screams, and as raw as his throat feels maybe it's him._

_He turns around in time to see the car that's overshot the intersection mount the pavement as it tries to avoid the truck coming in the opposite direction._

_Then silence._

_When he looks down, there are thick streaks of red creeping along the grey streets, suffocating the concrete, cancelling it out. Everything's turning red. Red eyes, red mist._

_He looks up. The flea's stopped ahead of him, demon eyes like rubies on fire, and he's laughing, a clear, crystal flick-blade cut of a sound in the silence. He's watching, and laughing, and then the image slips again and it's him looking back on the scene and he's still laughing and—_

"—No!"

No. He wasn't there anymore. Lungs burning, Shizuo ran trembling hands through sweat damp hair and tried to remember how to breathe. He was sitting bolt upright in his own bed, albeit in a strange room. His body felt as though he'd really been pushing it to its atrocious limit, but as far as he could tell, it all still worked. Just.

Fuck.

Izaya wasn't there, and Shizuo cursed himself for even expecting he would be, should be. Of course Izaya wasn't there. The last fucking thing he wanted to deal with after another of those godawful nightmares was the damned flea. The little shit knew better than to show his sly goddamned face…

Red eyes. Red mist.

It was all because of the flea. Everything. The accident, the fact he'd had to leave everything he cared about on the other side of the planet. The goddamn fact that the louse was the first thing on his mind when he woke.

That jigsaw puzzle image flitted across his vision again, as though he had no idea where he ended and Izaya began. As though they were two components of some ugly, twisted whole.

But he could still end it.

Struggling to free himself of the damp sheets knotted around him, he fought the wave of dizziness that his when he staggered to his feet and made his way out of the room.

He had to end it.

* * *

><p>Over the past few days, Izaya had learnt there was <em>one<em>other thing he couldn't do very well: cook.

The concept seemed so easy – mixing ingredients of varying quantities, and adding heat, but the execution…

Shizu-chan, for some reason, didn't complain. Either he had no taste whatsoever, or he was somehow humouring him. All things considered, Izaya would stake pretty much everything he owned on the former. Or maybe it was the trick Izaya learnt early on; douse everything in copious amounts of sugar. Honestly, he had no idea how Shizuo still looked so good, considering the crap he ate. Maybe hating him burned up an amazing number of calories.

_Hmm, I should release an exercise program. With the amount of people who despise me, I'd make a fortune._

Besides, he had to do something with his time while Shizuo moped. There could have been so many better ways to pass the day, but ever since the last time Shizuo hadn't so much as laid a finger on him, so any suggestions fell flat. Most of the time, Shizuo sat out in the front garden, nursing his cigarettes. Izaya joined him for as long as Shizuo's tolerance for his presence allowed – not very – and tried to educate him about the plants in the yard, the birds, the history of Ireland. Shizuo rarely responded with more than monosyllabic grunts befitting the caveman he really was, but Izaya told himself that Shizuo was listening anyway.

A wiser man might have given up. Even a stubborn man would have to admit that he was making no progress.

Izaya preferred to think of himself as determined. After all, it had already gotten him a million miles further than he'd imagined. Behaving as though failure was a fate suffered by others had served him well enough before. In this situation, where failure meant an existence without Shizuo, even the small victories counted.

That morning, the experiment on the stove was porridge. Or maybe pancakes. It depended on how the gloop in the pan turned out. He was adding more sugar when he heard the cry from the bedroom.

It wasn't the first time; Shizuo never slept well, and consequently neither did Izaya. It didn't affect him much; he was used to odd hours and catnaps. Shizuo had always struck him as an eight-hours-a-night sort of man. Surely expending that much energy on a daily basis took it out of you. Over the past few days, Shizuo seemed lucky to sleep eight minutes uninterrupted.

He didn't interfere. Even when the cries faded to whimpers, even when Shizuo thrashed around in a tangle of sheets. Even when he'd have given everything he had to be the kind of man who knew how to soothe away those hurts. He knew the events plaguing Shizuo's dreams; the last thing he wanted to see on waking would be Izaya's face.

_And that's different from the rest of the time, how, exactly? _

Today, however, the whimpering and thrashing were conspicuously absent. Izaya counted twenty seconds of silence, before glancing towards the bedroom. Maybe the nightmares had eased, maybe Shizuo had been able to fall back to sleep.

Or maybe he was leaning against the vandalized doorway dressed only in half-fastened jeans, looking pale and unsteady.

"Shizu-chan?"

There was no answer. Shizuo just stalked over to the sink, filled a clean glass with cold water and downed it in a couple of swallows. He leant back against the sink, head bowed, hair in his eyes, breathing much too fast.

"Are you-?"

"I'm fine."

Of course he was. Fine usually included shivering in a cold sweat and holding glasses till they cracked. He reached out, intending to take the glass out of Shizuo's hands before it broke any further. Shizuo flinched from his touch, the glass fumbling from his hands and shattering on the tiled floor.

"Fuck!"

"Don't worry, I'll clean it up." Izaya began to turn, looking for something that would let him do that. "Just don't move, or you'll—"

At first, he couldn't tell why _he_couldn't move, as though his words had cast some sort of backfired spell. He tried again. Frowned. Looked down.

Shizuo gripped his upper arms, hard enough to hurt, but Izaya wasn't focusing on the pain. The clammy hands that held him were shaking; he could feel the tremors chasing their way from his shoulders to his fingers.

"Shizu-chan…"

"I just…" Eyes still obscured by his hair, Shizuo swallowed hard, drawing in a broken breath. "I need…"

Izaya doubted Shizuo even knew what he needed, let alone knew how to articulate it.

"It's okay." He nodded, pressing his hands against Shizuo's skin because Shizuo let him. "Anything you need, it's okay."

He didn't know what else to do. Shizuo wasn't about to sit down for a calm, rational conversation, and, frankly, the offer of that coming from him was surely laughable.

But then he'd never known how to handle Shizuo; it would have made his life far easier if he did. Nothing he'd ever tried worked out too well. And something in the back of Izaya's mind whispered that this wasn't the best way to accomplish it, that he was only making it worse, but it was the only way he knew.

"It's okay," he repeated - almost a warning, in case Shizuo wanted to push him away - as he leaned in, lips against the centre of Shizuo's chest like kisses could somehow slow the thundering beat of the other man's heart. He couldn't drop to his knees, the vise-tight grip Shizuo had on him wouldn't allow it. But Shizuo didn't stop him as Izaya let his mouth roam over the warm, broad expanse of his chest. He nipped his way along Shizuo's collarbones, lapped at the hollow at the base of his throat, feeling the convulsive swallow. Shizuo didn't even stop him when he lowered his head, dragging his tongue against a flat, brown nipple, feeling it harden under his touch. Shizuo wasn't stopping him at all, and Izaya's own body thrilled at that tacit permission.

Until Shizuo's voice, low and thready and so completely unfamiliar, froze him in place.

"I don't want this."

When he looked up, Shizuo's eyes were glassy and glittering in the shadow of his bangs. He'd seen so much in those expressive eyes over the years. How many times had he started fights for no reason other than to see that gaze aimed his way, bright and beautiful in their absolute fury? How many times had he looked at those photographs, seethed in desperate envy at the tenderness with which those eyes looked at other people?

He'd never seen them look this close to hopeless. This close to empty.

But Shizu-chan never ran away, right? That was the one thing he could still count on. The one thing he could believe in, given the life he led, with more certainty than the sun rising in the morning.

"I never wanted this." Shizuo's voice was thick and hoarse with things Izaya had never wanted to hear coming from him. "It was never supposed to be like this, I was… I tried so fucking hard, and it still…"

He couldn't help it. Couldn't help leaning up, leaning closer. Right then, it didn't matter whether Shizuo killed him because the last thing he'd know in this life would be the desperate crush of the blond's lips against his own.

And maybe Shizuo had. He had to be dead or dreaming if he thought Shizuo was kissing him back, hard and angry and demanding, as though Izaya's tongue really did hold the answers to everything.

_I don't care what happens. If I could just have this, just for a second, then that'd be enough. That'd be everything. _

Never breaking the kiss, Shizuo released his arms, crowding him back against the corner of the counter. Izaya clung to him, blunt fingernails digging into broad shoulders, tangling tight in golden hair. When Shizuo's hands cupped his ass, lifting him onto the countertop, Izaya had already undone his pants, already made it easy for Shizuo to tug them down to his knees, effectively shackling him. Hands on the back of his thighs, Shizuo bent his legs up, and Izaya spread himself as wide open as the awkward position allowed. His cock brushed against his stomach, smearing sticky trails of moisture against his skin.

He heard the clatter of things on the countertop falling over, rolling onto the floor. Something else broke, the sound of something wet and thick emptying into the sink, and then Shizuo's fingers were rubbing against him, silky with the cooking oil Izaya had left out for his attempt at breakfast. Any other time, and he'd have delighted in the rough, fast thrust of Shizuo's fingers, but now it just wasn't enough.

"Don't need it," he breathed between kisses, lips wet and aching and too eager to be enveloped by Shizuo's again to bother forming extraneous words. "Just need you."

He'd barely finished speaking before Shizuo was there, working his way inside as though he'd finally realised, finally _understood_ that it was where he belonged.

The counter dug awkwardly into his back. The tangle of his jeans would let him press close enough, wouldn't let him wrap his legs around Shizuo's waist the way he wanted to. Shizuo's forceful, battering technique lacked finesse as always.

And none of it mattered. He had Shizuo inside him, the blond's breath a harsh panted rasp in his ear. Oh, granted, it was a Shizuo who was still locked in his nightmare, but it was close enough. A fully aware Shizuo would never be holding him like this, holding him this _tight,_ arms like strong bands of iron around his back. It didn't even matter that Shizuo would hate him again once he regained his senses; in that moment, Shizuo needed this. Needed him.

He turned Shizuo's face back towards his, kissed him again. He'd never get enough, already as painfully addicted to the taste of Shizuo's mouth as he always knew he would be. Sometimes, it was absolutely devastating to be right all the time.

Shizuo moved faster, breathing too hard now to keep up with the kisses. The teeth latching into the tender skin of Izaya's shoulder was almost as good, though. _Animalistic._ Like Shizuo didn't care anymore to put up some fake front of humanity, like he was okay letting Izaya see exactly what he was. _Possessive. _Like Shizuo actually wanted to keep him.

He came against Shizuo's chest, staining that gorgeous skin with ribbons of white. Shizuo bit down harder, driving Izaya hard against the counter, gloriously careless and unguarded in his pursuit of his own climax. Izaya just held on, pretending his bonelessly sated body helped wring out the heat he could feel pulsing deep inside.

As Shizuo's movements slowed, Izaya was content just catching his breath, basking in the strength of Shizuo's arms around him.

That was when Shizuo turned his head, lips against Izaya's ear and whispered, "It's all your fault…"

* * *

><p><em>All your fault. <em>

Still entangled, still buried, he slid down to the floor. Izaya's arms remained wound around his shoulders, doing nothing to shove him away even though the whole thing was uncomfortable.

"Shizu-chan..?"

"All your…" And then his fingers were twisting into Izaya's shirt, hanging on, because Izaya was _there_, and real, and alive, and maybe he still was the demon in his dream but Shizuo didn't care.

_All your fault I'm here, all your fault I'm acting like this. All your fault I hardly know who I am, what I want. All your fault nothing makes sense. _

The fingers in his hair were too gentle, too reverent to be Izaya's, even if it was the flea's voice that matched the soothing stroke. "You were dreaming again. About the accident."

"Don't call it that. It's not an accident when someone's to blame."

"Me, you mean."

Everything would have been so much easier if he could have believed that. If he could have shoved all the responsibility onto Izaya, absolved himself of it all because if it wasn't for the flea he'd have never—

_It's all your fault, except for the one thing I wish_ was.

And he knew the dream was a fucking joke, anyway. Because Izaya had never laughed. In reality, he had no idea what the flea did afterwards; he remembered seeing the fur trimmed edge of a coat somewhere in the crowd, but…

"You weren't the one who pulled up that stop sign."

"Well, no, but you only did it because you were trying to kill me."

The blunt statement might have hurt, once, if it wasn't just echoing the things Shizuo told himself. Somehow, it felt far less vicious on Izaya's lips.

"I mean, it's both our faults, isn't it?"

Both. Like that overlapping image, no beginning and no end.

_But I don't want that. I _don't.

Except that something deep down, something more intrinsic even than the rage, had already latched onto Izaya's words. That part of him that just yearned for someone to get it, for someone to truly understand what being him was really like. Someone who knew all that and still wouldn't run.

Stupid. The flea always ran, that's what he did best.

_But he also kept coming back. He knew what he'd get, and he still kept coming back._

Which, honestly, just went to prove how fucked up Izaya's games really were. Shizuo had no intention of being a part of them anymore.

He drew back, shivering at the sensation of leaving Izaya's body. It didn't help that Izaya made a sound at the moment that made Shizuo immediately wish he could slam right back in.

Izaya watched him with heavy-lidded eyes, and, evidently aware there wouldn't be an answer, changed track. "Heh, I made Shizu-chan all dirty."

Shizuo began to shake his head, but Izaya had already tugged off his shirt, using it to wipe the streaks of moisture from his chest. Looking away from that overly intimate gesture only fixed Shizuo's attention on the new, startling set of marks marring Izaya's pale skin.

"Sorry." He gestured vaguely to the bruises circling Izaya's upper arms, the livid bite mark on his shoulder. "I… I didn't mean…"

"Hm?" Izaya glanced down, as though the bruises had just appeared in that instant, and shrugged like it wasn't important. "Ah, I didn't even notice."

How the hell could anyone _not_ notice? Was Izaya that far gone that he'd forgotten how fucking dangerous it was to be around him? That he'd forgotten the damage Shizuo could do, whether he wanted to or not?

And just like that, the fantasy that maybe, somehow, Izaya might understand disintegrated.

He didn't. He couldn't. He never would.

So it had to end.

Shizuo pulled the pendant from his pocket. The silver disk felt remarkably cold against his skin as he curled his fingers around it briefly. He thought he could deal with this. He'd been wrong. He'd thought Ikebukuro would be safer without Izaya, without stopping to think whether Izaya would be safe with him.

Who the fuck was he to pretend he could save anything when he couldn't even deal with himself? Someone like him didn't save things, anyway; he just wrecked them. Whatever Izaya was, whatever he'd done, he didn't deserve that. No one did.

"I can't do this anymore." He dropped the pendant into Izaya's palm. "So just… Take that and go."

Izaya looked up at him, and something in Shizuo broke as surely as the shattered glass still glinting on the tiles.

"But I don't want—"

"I don't care what you want." He stood, not wanting to be that close to Izaya's eyes anymore. To whatever shimmered in then that looked a hell of a lot like hurt. If Izaya couldn't see he was trying to do the right thing, that wasn't his problem. "Please. Please, if… if you give as much of as shit as you say you do, then you'll go."

Izaya looked down at the pendant, and nodded. "If that's what you want."

"It is."

And fuck, he couldn't even tell whether that was the truth anymore. Instead of trying, he turned and walked away, leaving Izaya still sitting amid the broken pieces of the morning.


	8. Chapter 8

_Originally posted at the Drrr Kinkmeme on Livejournal. _

_The following story contains M/M - please don't read if that's not your thing. If it is, enjoy! ;)_

* * *

><p><span>Wherever You Will Go <span>

Chapter Eight

By the time Shizuo was done in the bathroom pretending he could wash away Izaya's touch, the mess in the kitchen had been cleaned up. The flea was scraping something that looked like a nuclear meltdown from a pan into the trash, and had seen fit to 'borrow' one of Shizuo's new shirts. It hung far too wide on his shoulders, but Izaya had rolled the cuffs up and it didn't look too bad.

Izaya could have taken anything he wanted as long as Shizuo didn't have to see those marks, didn't have to remember being so caught up in wanting that he hadn't realized he'd inflicted them at all.

As soon as Izaya quit playing his games, he'd realize it was better this way. He'd see this wasn't anything he wanted, anything he'd really miss.

"Ah, just figured I'd tidy up before I…"

"Thanks."

"I suppose you made your decision just in time. The way I was going, we'd both end up with food poisoning and with the size of your bathroom…" Izaya shook his head. "Doesn't bear thinking about."

Shizuo wondered who this resumption of 'everything's a-okay!' was meant to soothe. All it did was make him imagine how quiet this damn place would be when the flea was gone.

_Fuck it; I wanted peace, right? _

He fixed himself a sweet overly-creamed coffee, taking it and a pack of cigarettes outside. Watching Izaya puttering around the cottage as though he was meant to be there left him uncomfortable.

The garden offered little respite. Everywhere he looked, he could hear one of Izaya's rambling, enthusiastic lessons on the meaning of anemones, or the migrating habits of swifts – "Did you know, they hardly ever settle on the ground? They prefer to keep flying, or cling to impossible surfaces."

When Izaya eventually followed him – of course he would – Shizuo fought the childish urge to go back inside.

There were no more lessons. Izaya said nothing for several long moment. He just picked at the folded-up cuffs as he perched on the wall, a short distance from where Shizuo sat, and tilted his face up toward the sunshine.

"I wonder how the information network has coped without me?" Izaya finally mused to no one in particular. "Ground to a standstill I'd imagine. I hope Namie-chan hasn't spent all my money in my absence. Ah, I can always make more. Do you think she'll be able to guess where I've been?"

Shizuo didn't even think Izaya wanted an actual answer. What the hell was he supposed to say anyway? 'No, from that killer tan she'll think you had a week in Bali'? Shit, if Izaya went shirtless anywhere in the next week, whoever saw him would think he'd been held and tortured for the past few days instead.

He probably had.

"Any messages you'd like me to pass on?"

"Nothing I'd trust you with."

"So suspicious, Shizu-chan. What do you think I have to lose now?"

Exactly. People were dangerous when they thought they had nothing to lose, and Izaya was a catastrophe waiting to happen at the best of times. Shizuo tried to understand what Izaya thought he was truly losing by leaving, and came up empty. They'd both be better off this way. A substantial portion of Tokyo… maybe not so much, but that wasn't Shizuo's problem anymore.

And besides, being selfish was supposed to feel like shit, wasn't it? Otherwise, people wouldn't call it selfish.

"Do you remember what you told me the other day?"

Really not in the mood for twenty questions, Shizuo took an impatient drag on his cigarette and shrugged. "I probably said a lot of things." Most of which he didn't want to remember.

"Hmm, true. But you know, you _ask_far less than you'd imagine. Less than other people would." Izaya swung his legs back and forth, staring into middle distance with a half smile. "Which is pretty refreshing when you answer questions for a living. Ah, sometimes people don't even realize they're asking questions until they get answers they don't want. You never ask for much. But even you want to know 'why', don't you? You want to know how this could be okay for me."

Yes, he really did. More than anything he wanted to understand why they'd ended up like this, what he'd done, or said to make Izaya think that acting this way was acceptable. He wanted to know where he'd gone wrong, what had been his first mistake. Raijin? Ikebukuro? His bedroom? He wanted to know why Izaya always knew the best way to get under his skin.

"Not especially."

"You're a terrible liar, Shizu-chan. And like all bad liars, you think you're convincing everyone when you're not."

"Yeah? Takes one to know one."

Izaya chuckled. "Still, it can't hurt can it? I'm leaving, you'll never have to deal with me again. I can hardly leave you seething here with your curiosity eating you alive."

"See, I think you're confusing me with someone who gives a shit."

"But you do. Otherwise we wouldn't be in this situation at all."

There wasn't much he could say to that.

"And anyway… it doesn't matter to me anymore, right?" When he began speaking again, there was an edge to Izaya's voice that made Shizuo lift his head and glance across at him. "This is baggage I'd much rather not carry back with me."

For some reason, Shizuo's thoughts drifted back to the stuff that had fallen out of Izaya's bag. Ordinary things. Fragile things. As fragile as the man sitting next to him, swallowed up in a too-big shirt and looking desolate, and resigned and far too human.

It was almost possible in that moment to forget everything the flea had done.

"Do you remember the first thing you said to me?"

It was pretty fucking difficult to forget. "Yeah."

Izaya laughed softly. "Hate at first sight, ne, Shizu-chan?"

"Only because—"

Shit. He tried to pretend he hadn't started to answer, but he could feel Izaya's gaze on him, waiting. Like it had been back then. Waiting, and expectant, as though Izaya saw something far more fascinating, more promising than just him.

Only because Izaya looked at him with those fearless eyes and Shizuo hadn't known what to do with it except detest it because anyone who knew what he was and _still _looked at him that way were clearly fucked up. Clearly had ulterior motives. Who the hell knew what Izaya'd had planned for him, where he'd be now if he'd let himself be swept up in that.

Only because he'd been trying to destroy himself as much as the damn flea.

"Because it was obvious you were bad news."

"Well, there is that. I often wonder if things had been different from the start, what might have changed. But you know… probably not much. I doubt I'd be some paragon of virtue right now if you'd liked me instead."

Shizuo stared at the ash accumulating at the end of his forgotten cigarette, and tried to wrap his thoughts around that. There was no way in hell anyone could have reined Izaya in. The flea was a force of nature. Still… had he had the opportunity to try, to minimize the damage, and hadn't even noticed?

But he'd tried that. This whole mess was his proof. He'd tried to bear the brunt of Izaya's attention, and failed miserably.

"You're beating yourself up over that now, aren't you?" He couldn't tell whether the sound on the breeze was a sigh or a laugh, or a sad mixture of both. "Don't. Do you honestly think that if I'd wanted to make a far better first impression on you that I couldn't have?"

Shizuo thought again about the village, about strangers flocking around Izaya with smiles and laughter and everything about them open for the taking.

"No, you saw me and you didn't like it," Izaya went on. "That was okay. A miscalculation on my part, maybe, but I decided I could still get what I wanted."

"What you wanted?"

"Hmm." Izaya nodded, before going off on another tangent. "Do you know, when you think I'm not around you actually smile? Not that psychotic axe-murderer look you get when you're planning my untimely demise, a real smile. I thought for a long time that I was fine with you hating me, but sometimes… I admit, I was curious. I thought maybe I'd like to meet that man."

"Stupid flea. You think I've got some split personality or something? I'm just me."

"But you're not." Izaya shook his head. "I don't know who you are when you're with other people. They get to see a different Shizu-chan."

"Yeah, well. Maybe it's because other people didn't make my life hell on a regular basis." The cigarette had burned down close to his fingers without him noticing. He stubbed it out on the wall, kept stubbing even when the cigarette was extinguished just for something else to look at besides Izaya. "Didn't land me in jail for shit I didn't do, that sort of thing."

"But that's just it. I never wanted to be like all the others. I wanted something that was just for me. I wanted to see you react to me like you never would for anyone else. I wanted something of yours that was only mine. If that was your hatred, then…" Izaya sent him a sidelong look, and Shizuo only caught the briefest glimpse of it before he looked away but it made him shiver all the same. "Better than nothing, right?"

Shizuo snorted. "So, what… you're passing it all off as attention seeking?"

"You could see it that way. But, you know…" Izaya's voice took on a soft, dreamlike quality. "As long as I had your attention, I was invincible. Nothing could touch me. How could it, when you, the most powerful thing I knew couldn't catch me? You keep asking what the game is this time, but the truth is that _was_the game, Shizu-chan. How far could I push, how close could I get without everything I'd built falling apart?"

Izaya fell silent. When Shizuo looked up, that same dreamlike quality infused the smile Izaya sent his way. "And you know how I play, Shizu-chan. If you were going to hate me, then you'd hate me more than you ever hated anyone else."

Izaya threw that word around so casually. _Hate._ A cold, calculating, slow-burning thing, the complete opposite to his rage. That burned bright, fast, blinding, and then it was gone. No lingering grudges. He wouldn't even have held one against Izaya if the flea had just left things well enough alone. If Izaya had just disappeared, taken with him those knowing eyes and that irritating smirk and the screwed up hope that there was someone out there he could _never_break, he might have been able to get on with his life.

And yeah, maybe he hated the things Izaya did, hated the way the flea knew all the right buttons to press. But that wasn't the same as hating Izaya the person. Hating the person behind all that awful logic and twisted rationale was just…

And it occurred to him that Izaya probably didn't know the difference. But before he could bring himself to speak, Izaya was talking again.

"And so, when I heard you were leaving, well, you know that part."

"So you seriously thought I was worth… lowering yourself like that?"

"Lowering myself?" Izaya sounded surprised. "Oh, Shizu-chan, you have no idea how low I'd go for you."

The murmur of those words shot through his blood, carrying with it the muscle memory of how Izaya had felt beneath him, around him, how he touched, how he kissed.

How he took everything Shizuo threw at him, and still came back for more.

"But I don't want that, I… no one should need to act that way for someone else."

"Then clearly you've never wanted something you knew you could never truly have, Shizu-chan. I don't know whether I should envy you or feel sorry for you."

"You really are messed up, flea."

"Ah, probably." Izaya hopped down from the wall, stretching like a cat who'd been basking in a sunbeam. Shizuo lit another cigarette, just for something to do with his hands; he could see horrible visions of them reaching out as Izaya strolled past, latching onto that oversized sleeve and begging him not to go, not to-

Izaya, probably by dint of some innate flea power to know exactly what Shizuo was thinking just as he did it, paused right in front of him. "But you know, in all of this, I made one big mistake."

Shizuo managed a forced laugh. "Just the one? So unlike you."

But Izaya wasn't even smiling. Not even smirking. There was just something helpless and frustrated in his eyes, before he turned and continued walking back towards the house.

"Maybe. I just didn't account for the fact, in competing for your loathing I'd lose out to _you._"

* * *

><p>The day passed in the same sort of bittersweet haze as the final day of a perfect vacation. You knew there was nothing waiting for you the next day, just the bleak, yawning stretch of your day-to-day existence. There'd be no more sunshine, no more warmth. No more pretending this could be your life, in some elaborate fantasy.<p>

_No more pretending, Shizu-chan. _

Somehow, they both had the tacit agreement that, if it was night time that brought them here, it'd be night time taking him back. It just meant more aching hours to fill, and more space for the doubts to creep in.

But maybe that would be all right too. If this didn't work, then obviously it had been just a fantasy.

He'd been gathering his things, just another excuse to stay in Shizuo's space, when his coat fell off the back of the couch. Maybe without thinking, maybe because simple _nice_ gestures like that were deeply ingrained in him, Shizuo picked it up for him, handing it over.

"Thanks, I—"

Both their gazes dropped to the small black square still on the floor. Something must have shown on his face, because Shizuo's eyes narrowed shrewdly, and he reached for the wallet before Izaya could. Reached for it, flipped it open, and Shizuo could have spread _him _wide open in a million ways, he wouldn't have felt quite so bared as he did as Shizuo looked at the primrose pressed into the useless space where other people might put photos of loved ones. Sometimes, Izaya kept the default picture that came with the wallet – usually some smiling woman or drooling child – because it was always useful in tricky situations if you could claim there were loved ones who would report your disappearance and mourn your passing.

He tried to imagine that photo of Shizuo gracing his wallet, imagined some idiotic thug's reaction if Izaya showed them a photo of the Beast of Ikebukuro and said "This is my 'loved one' who'll surely be pissed off if I'm harmed", and his soft laugh startled Shizuo back to his senses. A shame, because Izaya was sure he was a second away from reaching out to touch the drying petals of the flower as if to confirm it was really there.

"Sorry." Shizuo held out the wallet gruffly, not quite looking at him while he did so. His lips were a grim line, brows furrowed.

Izaya stared at the wallet for a moment, before taking it and slipping it back into the pocket of his coat. "Why does that make you so angry?"

"It doesn't." Another lie. Shizuo was so utterly guileless that all sincere, genuine statements, even if they hurt as sharply as jagged glass, came with direct eye contact. This one came with an averted gaze. "I just don't get it, that's all."

"What's to get? It's a memento. A keepsake. Surely Shizu-chan has something like that?"

Shizuo rubbed absentmindedly at his chest. "Not really."

"I see. Well then, something precious that reminds you of someone important. Like your bartender clothes remind you of your brother."

"I don't have those anymore." Shizuo turned for his bedroom. End of conversation, at least on that topic. "What do you want me to do with your shirt?"

Izaya shrugged. "I don't care. Throw it out."

Shizuo paused, and Izaya could see him working the sudden tension from his shoulders. "Gladly."

"There is one thing you can do for me, though." Izaya followed him into the bedroom, crowding Shizuo in the cramped space. "Here. I know you don't trust me to do it properly, so…"

He held out the pendant with one hand, and offered up the other wrist. He couldn't quite calm the racing of his heart as he watched Shizuo wind the cord tight, knotting it with so little left over Izaya would need to be a contortionist to undo it, or use his blade.

_You're always tying me up, Shizu-chan, I just can't tell yet if it's to keep me away or keep me here. _

And damned if he was sleeping on that uncomfortable couch tonight. Shizuo looked at him sceptically when Izaya slinked onto the bed, stretching out and making himself comfortable.

"You're sleeping here?"

"Ah, one last indulgence, ne, Shizu-chan? I'll behave myself, I promise."

Because if he was wrong, then he still wanted to watch Shizuo's face as long as he was allowed. He wouldn't close his eyes, not even when the light from the high window faded, outlining the other man in shadows.

"I'm just surprised." In the dark, he could almost pretend Shizuo's voice was a secretive, seductive whisper, murmuring things the blond would never reveal in the light. "I guess I expected you to try and make me change my mind."

"Would it have worked?"

"No. But I figured you'd try anyway."

"Well…" Izaya felt for the cool disk of silver tied tight around his wrist, running his fingers over the engraving, and smiled into the dark. "Sometimes, actions speak louder, ne?"


	9. Chapter 9

_Originally posted at the Drrr Kinkmeme on Livejournal. _

_The following story contains M/M - please don't read if that's not your thing. If it is, enjoy! ;)_

* * *

><p><span>Wherever You Will Go <span>

Chapter Nine

_Ikebukuro. Day. Only it's not the same and he can't figure out why everything's changed._

_All the grey people have gone. He's alone on silent, grey streets that are still streaked with red. Even the wind has died down, gone away. And the familiar has never seemed so wrong._

_He starts running. He doesn't know where he's going, just that he can't stay here. Can't tolerate this vacant grey maw of a street, ready to swallow him whole._

_Starts running. Keeps running. But he isn't going anywhere. Like the road's the only thing that's moving under his feet, his surroundings don't change, and the faster he runs, the harder he tries, the more the stillness just closes in around him._

_Until something makes him stop. Turn around._

_The silent, grey wreckage of the accident is in front of him. Twisted metal, broken glass. Abandoned and ghostly like a shipwreck. Like something the rest of the world's forgotten just because they can't see it anymore._

_He can't forget, because he sees it every time he closes his eyes._

_As he takes slow steps towards it, he realizes he can move now, that the world does change, but only in this direction._

_And on the other side, an invincible demon with defiant, fearless red eyes._

_Eyes that remind him it's always been him who's most afraid._

_The demon reaches out a hand, pale and smooth as bleached bone, something bright around a thin wrist catching on a light he can't see._

_He can't reach. He can't find a way around the mess ahead of him. And deep inside something's burning with the need to, because nothing can understand a monster like another monster. All those grey people, all those ordinary lives, he can't expect them to know how it feels._

_Compared to that, the feeling he has of willingly handing his soul over to the devil doesn't feel so bad._

_Please. I can't do this by myself anymore._

_But he can't reach. The wreckage isn't even on fire, but it looks as though there's smoke coiling up, blocking his view. He can't see where that hand is anymore._

_No. You can't just offer something like that and then leave me here alone._

_"Oh?" It's perfectly pin-drop quiet, but he can still barely hear the demon's voice. It feels much further than a few feet away. "But you're the one who sent me away, Shizu-chan. You're the one who chose this instead."_

_This?_

_"Look around you. It doesn't matter where you go, this is where you'll always be."_

_But you can't take it away, you can't make it so that it never happened._

_"No, I can't do any of that. But it'd be better than being here all alone, ne?"_

_The voice is fading with every word, and as much as he wants to cling onto it there's nothing let to cling to. He fights through the grey smoke, reaching, but there's nothing there._

_Just him, and this wreckage, and grey empty streets, and the roar of the demon's name on his lips—_

"—Izaya…!"

He jerked awake, breathing hard, staring at the hand he was reaching out uselessly towards the blindingly bright whitewashed wall.

Shit.

Closing his eyes, he rolled onto his back, hands tunnelling through his hair. His heart still pounded in his ears, and the fresh memory of the dream tasted bitter on his tongue.

He tried to imagine Izaya's reaction to that. The damn louse would be unbearable, all smug smiles and "Ah, Shizu-chan wants me after all!"

Just as well he was gone, then.

Gone. The day ahead was entirely his. There'd be no need to watch the flea for any signs of Machiavellian plotting. No need to keep himself in check in the face of that relentless flirting. No, now he only had to worry about the things the flea would get up to once he got home. Maybe he should find some way of warning his friends, even though they wouldn't know why Izaya had been blessedly missing in the first place. Unless Izaya decided to tell them. Oh, fuck, he wouldn't tell them about this, would he? About the things he'd done, about the—

He felt the echoes of Izaya's lips, his tongue, his hands, his body.

_Fuck. If the flea goes blabbing about that, I'll find a way to get back to Ikebukuro and kick the shit out of him. Hell, Celty managed to get to Japan and she didn't even have a head, how hard can it be…?_

He pressed his hands hard against his eyes, hard enough to see specks of colour against swirls of grey.

_Grey streets. _

Would he really chase Izaya back to Ikebukuro? Could he face the site of his biggest failure just to track down his biggest mistake?

No. Besides, Izaya had the pendant now, there was no way back. He needed to focus on the important things, like how the hell he was going to pay for the next round of groceries. Someone in the village probably needed help with… heavy lifting or something, right? There didn't seem to be much call for debt collection, and he didn't have a great track record with anything else. Izaya would have been able to talk someone into giving them a job, assuming he wouldn't have found a less honourable way of making money in the meantime.

But Izaya was gone, and Shizuo had everything he'd ever wanted. Peace. Solitude. The flea out of his life for good.

Even if the flea he'd known over the past few days wasn't quite the flea he remembered. While he'd told Izaya that he was just _him_, regardless of who was looking, someone like Izaya surely had a different face, a different facet of himself at the ready depending on who he was trying to troll. He could probably be whatever his latest victim wanted.

_"I'll be anything you want. Do anything you want."_

…yeah, Izaya was nothing if not convincing. More fool him.

But it didn't matter. Izaya was gone, and Shizuo had everything he'd ever wanted. Everything he deserved.

He rubbed his eyes again. Damn, that too-bright sunshine hurt…

Stretching, he turned towards the empty side of the bed, and decided Izaya really must have done one hell of a number on him, because now he was imagining that dark, knowing gaze smiling sleepily back at him.

"Good morning, Shizu-chan."

Shizuo closed his eyes again. Took a breath. Opened them.

"I'd ask whether you missed me, but…" Izaya shrugged one shoulder. He was still wearing Shizuo's shirt.

He was still _there._

The words just wouldn't come. His mouth refused to cooperate, and after the third attempt, Shizuo gave up.

Why?

_"But even you want to know 'why', don't you?"_

He reached out, hesitant as though he was about to shatter a mirage, and brushed trembling fingers against Izaya's cheek. Izaya closed his eyes, a hand overlapping Shizuo's and turning tentative into _touching_, the disk tied around his wrist glinting as he interlaced their fingers.

A flash of that new, unsettling dream sank cold claws into the back of his mind.

That sense of reaching out for nothing.

Izaya made a soft sound of surprise as Shizuo pulled him close, arms wrapped tight around him, face buried in the crook of his neck. Real. Not his imagination. Real, and here, and oh, fuck, _his_, somehow, because the only way Izaya could still be here was that the pendant wouldn't take him anywhere else.

Just let it be real. Fuck the rest, just let this be real.

Working one arm free from its place trapped between their chests, Izaya's hand snaked into his hair, half stroking, half just holding on.

"I'm sorry," the words were muffled against the pounding of Shizuo's heart. "I'm sorry. I know it's my fault, but I never meant for it to be like _this_, so don't, Shizu-chan, please don't…"

At first, he thought Izaya meant that he shouldn't cling so tight – shouldn't_ hurt_ - but the hand in his hair kept him close, and Izaya kept pressing against his chest as though he wanted to melt into him. The words only made sense when he drew back slightly, immediately embarrassed by the damp smudges on the shoulder of Izaya's borrowed shirt.

"Sorry."

He let go, pulled back, rubbed a hand across his face as he looked away. He was such a fucking idiot.

He thought he heard Izaya sigh, but for once the flea allowed him his space.

"That's why I didn't try to change your mind," Izaya said after a moment. Shifting the lean on one elbow, he looked down at Shizuo and held out his wrist. "I know you never believed me, and I didn't know any other way that would make you see I wasn't lying."

The cord was untouched. The only way Izaya could have taken it off would be to take his flick blade to it, and then there'd be no way to tie it back. Still, Shizuo ran his fingers against the knot he'd tied, as though it had somehow unravelled and rewound just to spite him.

"You didn't take it off," he said, needing to hear his own voice confirming it.

Izaya shook his head. "No. I admit I was a little nervous, I mean… you're the one who explained - in a very half-assed way, honestly - how it worked. I don't think you even know how to work a cell phone. For all I knew it'd send me to a parallel universe."

Shizuo thought maybe it had.

"So you'll believe some little trinket," Izaya held his hand up, letting the pendant jangle on its cord, "but not me. I'm wounded, Shizu-chan, wounded."

"Where…" he swallowed past the dryness in his mouth, forcing the words out. Whatever the answer, he told himself he could deal with it. That he'd _have _to deal with it, because he was running a little low on options that involved either of them running. "Where did you want to go?"

Izaya watched him, eyes calm and serious. If he was lying now, he was better at it than Shizuo had ever believed.

"Home."

And he was aware it was a petty, stupid thing to say but he had to know— "This isn't your home."

"No, but you are." Izaya smiled a little, as though he was wary of the reception his words would get. "You can tell me to go anywhere in the world, the only place that interests me now is where you are."

"But that's…" He shook his head, hoping that maybe, somehow, if he wasn't quite listening then Izaya's words wouldn't curl up against that yearning, terrified part of his soul and murmur sweet, gentle lies. "That's stupid, I'm not—"

"Enough." He found himself staring up at intense eyes, Izaya's hands braced on the pillows either side of his head. "I'll do anything for you. Anything. I'll give you everything I own. You already know you can do whatever you like with my body. But I will not listen to more of this. Do you think I'd want a worthless man?"

_But you do. If you're still telling me you give a shit, then that's exactly what you're doing._

"If you stay, I'll hurt you," and he willed Izaya to understand that he didn't just mean the sort of hurt that came from flying vending machines. There were far more insidious, cowardly ways to hurt than that.

"You can't hurt me because you _wouldn't_. I love everything you do to me—" Shizuo looked away. Izaya turned his face back towards his. "No, you're going to listen to me. I love everything you do to me. Everything. I love wearing the bruises that mark me as yours. I love watching you lose control, and knowing I'm the reason for it. I love knowing that even when you do lose control, there's nowhere I'm safer than by your side. I love _you_, you protozoan idiot."

The room had always been cramped, but it had never felt quite so claustrophobic. Everything felt too close: the walls; Izaya's lips; that unapologetic look in his eyes.

_I love you._

But that was… how the hell could Izaya love him? The things they'd done to each other spoke of a thousand things, but love wasn't one of them. Love didn't make you angry, didn't make you mean. It didn't make you chase someone with the single minded determination to be the most important, most all-consuming thing in their lives, the one thing they could never forget, never escape-

Oh, fuck…

"I know I promised I'd never say it again, but I swore to myself if I woke up still here with you I'd try to make you understand."

The first time Izaya said it, he'd taken it as another colossal joke – and he still couldn't say it wasn't, only now he suspected if there was one, it was on both of them. He hadn't wanted to hear it, hadn't wanted to believe it was anything more than a game.

_I love you. _

When Shizuo said nothing, Izaya sat up, arms anchoring his knees to his chest, posture more self-protective than he'd ever been in the face of anything Shizuo could physically throw at him.

"Do you think I don't know I've done this wrong from the start?" The laugh was soft, sad. "I think I truly started believing we _were_invincible. I never thought there could be something that would hurt you this much, something I couldn't control. You know, there's not a lot I can't do, one way or another, but this… I can't take it back. I can't fix it. I don't know how to make it better. I've never wanted to make it better before…"

"I'm sorry for being such an inconvenience."

"Don't be an asshole, Shizu-chan, it doesn't suit you." Izaya rested his chin on his knee, sent him a sideways look. "Besides, that's my thing. I think this is around the time you should be throwing things at me, yelling 'Kill! Kill! Kill!'. Ah…" The flea laughed a little, a goddamn blush creeping across his cheeks, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. "And I suppose you could still throw me out in the old fashioned way, I didn't really think about that."

Yeah. There really had to be a limit on the mistakes one man could make in a lifetime.

"I won't."

"Hmm?" Izaya lifted his head at Shizuo's mumble.

"I won't. Throw you out, I mean."

He probably should have. He'd pay for this, somewhere down the line. Nothing good could come of it.

But fuck if he could turn it away twice. Even the strongest man had to be weak against something, right?

Izaya started to say something, but Shizuo had heard about as much as his composure could stand. He silenced the words with his lips, opening Izaya's mouth for better things than conversation. He'd expected compliance – it was a frightening, heady thought, that he could do anything he wanted and Izaya wouldn't refuse him – but he hadn't expected the quiet sense of acceptance in the kiss.

Like there was nowhere else either of them were meant to be.

And it felt as though something just broke. As strong as he was, as hard as he tried, he couldn't hold all those shattering pieces together anymore. There were too many of them, too small and painful to grab onto. A million tiny barbed losses and hurts, far too much for his tenuous defences to deal with.

Izaya just held on, held tight, and whispered extravagant promises no one could keep until the shudders subsided and Shizuo figured there was no damn way on earth he could embarrass himself any more than he already had.

After a while, the way Izaya stroked his hair changed. The cool fingers were searching, instead of soothing, tracing circles at the nape of his neck, dragging along his jaw, tickling against his lips.

_Wanting_ something.

He drew back, breathing hard, both hands cradling Izaya's face.

"If you're still playing me, I swear…"

Arching under him, Izaya nodded, pupils wide and dark, the red of his eyes just thin bright halos, and went along with the empty threat. "If I hurt you again, I wouldn't expect anything less."

Izaya reached for him again, but Shizuo caught his wrists, pinning them above his head. He felt the cool metal of the pendant against his palm as Izaya struggled a little, testing his hold. Nudging Izaya's legs apart, he knelt between them, pressing closer until Izaya's ass was pressed snugly against his groin. Even the layers of cloth between them didn't do much to mask the heat as he rotated his hips, grinding his own erection under Izaya's. But when he slid a hand between their bodies, palm rubbing hard, Izaya shook his head.

"Wait, Shizu-chan, you don't have to—"

He nipped sharply at Izaya's lower lip to silence him, soothing the bite with a slow sweep of his tongue, fingers tracing the shape of Izaya's cock through tight pants. He felt Izaya's hips jerk, slender thighs tightening around his.

"What, you think I can't get you off like this?"

"You never wanted to before."

A nip to Izaya's earlobe this time, hard enough to make the other man hiss. "Yeah, well…" His lips worked their way down the side of Izaya's neck, while his free hand worked at undoing first Izaya's pants, then his own. "There were a lot of things I didn't want before."

There were things he hadn't _thought _about before. Like how it'd feel to have Izaya's cock sliding against his own, hot and wet in the tight circle of Shizuo's fingers. Every shift of his hips set off sparks behind his eyes, chased shivers down his spine.

"Shizu-chan…" Izaya breathed his name, thrusting up against his hand. "Shizu-chan…"

He leaned down, biting at Izaya's collar bone through the rumpled fabric of his borrowed shirt. Izaya's back arched off the bed, head falling back with a cry, wrists straining against the hand that held him pinned. Shizuo just held tighter, feeling his grin turn feral against Izaya's bared throat when the other man hardened further.

"You're fucking shameless, flea."

"Ah…!" Izaya laughed, a low, breathy sound that vibrated against Shizuo's lips. "Only for you, Shizu-chan."

"Only for me?" Dragging the tip of his tongue from the hollow of Izaya's throat all the way to his chin, he looked down at red eyes gone hazy with pleasure. "You want to be mine that badly, flea?"

"Don't _want_ to," Izaya shook his head. "I _am_. Always have been."

Speeding up his strokes, he sought out Izaya's mouth again, breathing in the moans as the other man moved restlessly under him. Izaya's heels dug into the back of his knees, trying to press their bodies even closer. Like he couldn't ever get close enough.

He broke the kiss long enough to latch onto Izaya's shoulder again. Izaya bucked against him at the first hint of teeth, cried out his name as his body tensed, coming against Shizuo's fingers. Hand tightening around them in one last, ruthless stroke, Shizuo let the slick wet heat of Izaya's release trigger his own.

And the lights going off behind his eyes were brighter than sunshine, scattering any lingering shadows of grey or red.

He released Izaya's wrists, but before he could move back, Izaya reached for his hand, drawing it to his mouth, and—

"Fuck…" Shizuo cursed under his breath, eyes fluttering shut at the warm, firm lap of Izaya's tongue around his fingers, between them, sucking and licking him clean, watching him with dark, satisfied eyes.

It already felt worryingly natural to lean down, kissing Izaya again, tasting them both on his lips. It already felt too much like all this belonged to him.

Arms winding around Izaya, face pressed against his chest, he drew the smaller man into a more comfortable position. While he listened to the thud of Izaya's heartbeat returning to normal, those ridiculously gentle fingers were back in his hair. With the desperation of wanting ebbing away to something that just simmered, gave him a moment to think, everything they'd done still hung between them, like-

Like grey smoke, thick and cloying and keeping him from the one thing that stood the first chance at saving him.

"The stuff you said…" he managed eventually. "I don't know what to do with this, I…"

The hands in his hair stilled, and Shizuo had the distinct impression he'd said the wrong thing, though hell if he knew why. "Didn't I tell you? You don't have to do anything, Shizu-chan. If you really feel the need to do something, then… just give me a chance."

A few days ago, that would have been impossible. He wouldn't have given Izaya the benefit of the doubt if he claimed the sky was blue. But he wasn't dealing with that Izaya anymore. This one made strangers smile, and rambled about flowers. This one was open, unguarded, handed Shizuo enough ammunition to hold against him for decades. This one commandeered his dreams, and held him while he fell apart.

It was too elaborate an act, even for the flea. And if it wasn't well… he contented himself with the knowledge that _anyone_ would fall for it.

"Yeah," he said, closing his eyes. "Okay."


	10. Chapter 10

_Originally posted at the Drrr Kinkmeme on Livejournal. _

_The following story contains M/M - please don't read if that's not your thing. If it is, enjoy! ;)_

* * *

><p><span>Wherever You Will Go <span>

Chapter Ten

Now that this… whatever this was between them had subtly shifted into something less transient, a few things needed to change. Not least of which was the fact that Izaya needed more than one set of clothes. Nothing he had would last very long given Shizu-chan's penchant for tugging, pulling and ripping at them.

Oh, he wasn't complaining; it had taken long enough just to get the blond comfortable enough to accept the things he offered, let alone enjoy them. Admittedly, it'd be nice if Shizuo decided to claim a little more than just his body, but it was a start.

It was more than he'd expected, which was just so very Shizu-chan. One day, he should really find a hobby that yielded more predictable results: lotteries, tornado warnings, that sort of thing.

There wasn't much in the local village – Izaya tried to convince Shizuo that the apron would really come in handy now, only to be rebuffed at every attempt –

The next biggest town was over an hour away. Sitting on the uncomfortable bus seat, he mulled over the possibility of buying a car, before dismissing the idea; he had a feeling Shizu-chan would rather walk everywhere than get into a car right now. And there was the added benefit of watching Shizuo, folded into the cramped seats, staring out of the window with that faraway look in his eyes.

Faraway, but they both knew what he was seeing.

Less than he used to, maybe. The nightmares weren't hourly anymore. Izaya'd only been woken twice last night, and even though he'd still been half-asleep himself, Shizuo relaxed far quicker with someone there to murmur nonsense and remind him it was just a dream. Maybe not over, but at least something he could manage, in time.

Heh, or maybe he was really giving himself false graces. Maybe Shizuo would have reacted like that with anyone.

But he wasn't with anyone. It wasn't _anyone _who knew the true depth of that pain. Just him. Which had to count for something. At least the day gave him an opportunity to take Shizuo's mind off it.

Izaya settled back in his own seat, and set about making plans.

They still got some weird looks when the disembarked the bus, but the town was bigger and its inhabitants didn't seem quite so startled.

_Oh, give 'em time…_

While Izaya set about decimating whatever money he had left – would that weird secretary of his really fleece him while he was gone? Shizuo thought that was a pretty shitty thing to do – Shizuo slouched on a bench in the shade of a tree, and took another stab at wrapping his head around the past few days.

It hadn't worked before, but who knew, change of scene and all…

He laughed softly to himself. Yeah, huge change of scene: basking in the sun on a park bench. Maybe some things just didn't change, couldn't change, no matter where you went.

And other things…

_"I love you."_

Izaya hadn't repeated the words since that day, but he didn't have to; there was an echo in Shizuo's head every time Izaya looked at him. And part of him never wanted to hear it again, but a bigger part almost _did_, if only to accustom himself to hearing it. He'd never given much thought to hearing it _at all_, all things considered, but hearing it from the flea…

It was fucking terrifying. Worse, because he knew all the fear was his. Izaya was fearless, resilient, damn near impossible to discourage let alone kill, and Shizuo had no idea what to do with that. Everything he'd thought he wanted – someone who could hold their own, someone who knew what he was and still, for strange reasons of their own, thought he was worth something – so the only excuses were on him.

Maybe if it'd been someone else, that vague sense of mistrust wouldn't be there, but neither would that seductive, yearning promise of someone who just understood.

Maybe that was the most frightening thing of all. Where was there to hide with someone who knew fricking _everything_?

He opened his eyes when a shadow blocked the sun. Had to be the flea. Everyone else seemed wise enough to give him a wide berth.

"Here." Izaya held out a bag. "I know you probably don't want to do it now, but for whenever you feel ready to contact your friends, or your brother, it'll be easier if it's not coming from my phone, ne?"

Okay, that sounded innocent enough, but he still opened the box with caution.

"I even had them set it up for you, in case you really are as technologically challenged as you look," Izaya went on cheerfully, as Shizuo glowered at the thing inside the box, his suspicions proving totally correct.

"It's pink."

"It was the last one of that model they had." Izaya's face might have been solemn, but a wicked gleam in his eyes gave it away. "But I thought it'd suit Shizu-chan anyway."

"You need to stop buying me stuff. I'm not your kept woman."

"Well, no, I thought I was the one being kept." Izaya smiled. "Ah, just think of this as payback, Shizu-chan, of the monetary kind. How many bills for property damage _haven't _I helped you with in the past?"

Shizuo tried to suppress the wince. "Well, I guess there is that…"

"So you see?" Izaya nodded brightly. "Now you can enjoy your pretty new phone guilt-free."

It was just as well Izaya skipped off towards another store, because Shizuo was a second away from throwing said pretty phone at his pretty fricking head.

Pink. He snorted a soft laugh, looking at the phone. Stupid flea.

Bored of the bench, and getting nowhere with his thoughts, he followed Izaya into the store.

It seemed to be some kind of gift shop; what Izaya thought he wanted with a bunch of badly made trinkets - and… oh, was that fudge? - Shizuo had no idea. Near the door, where he felt less likely to break those badly made trinkets, there was a wire bookrack. He didn't understand much of it, but it seemed safer to browse than shit made of china and glass. And besides, maybe there were cookbooks. It'd be the finest fucking kind of irony if Izaya managed with food what he'd never managed with knives.

The only things he could find appeared to involve making cupcakes that looked like animals. While the idea of cupcakes, generally, was pretty tempting, he didn't particularly trust Izaya to do such innocent things with frosting.

At the bottom of the rack, however, was a small book with flowers on the cover, the title easily understandable: "Flower Meanings".

Curiosity nagged the back of his mind as he picked it up. Some of the names were lost on him, but it didn't take long to find a picture of that small yellow flower Izaya kept in his wallet.

Contrary to Izaya's accusations, he could use a cell phone perfectly well, thanks. Broke them, often, but while he had them he knew how they worked. Pulling up a web browser, he carefully typed in the letters on the page, and searched for a translation program, replacing the book on the rack while he waited for the result to display.

/Primroses: "I can't live without you"/

_Oh, fuck, flea…_

He remembered the way Izaya looked away when he'd held out that flower – held it out _for_ him. He remembered how he hadn't _taken_ it. And still the flea kept on trying, kept on refusing to quit. And he almost found himself _angry_ at the way Izaya hadn't even told him what he meant, but the annoyance ran up against the sheer brick wall of all the ways Izaya _had _told him exactly that.

Was it okay, maybe, to believe it wasn't a game? Did it make him stupid – make him _weak _- to realize how badly he wanted it to be real?

"Are you done?" Izaya appeared at his side, starling him. Shizuo snapped the phone closed, turning to block Izaya's view of the bookrack.

"Yeah. Yeah, totally done."

Izaya looked at him dubiously. "You sure? You look awfully flustered, Shizu-chan."

"Shut up."

The next stop was some tackily fashionable clothes store, the sort of place with too many mirrors and music so loud it made his head hurt.

For something to do while Izaya hopped from one rack to the next – how could a guy with only a couple more changes of clothes than him be this fascinated with this crap? – he absently browsed the display closest to him.

In the mirror, he watched an effervescent sales clerk cozying up to Izaya. Probably word had already gotten around that there was an idiot with a credit card on the loose. Of course, Izaya flirted right back, looking coyly at whatever the guy said.

Which would've been fine, because that was what the flea did. But it was something else entirely when the kid shifted closer, one hand 'casually' skimming down Izaya's arm as he pointed out a rack of shirts. In his mind, he saw the image of fading yellow bruises on Izaya's arms. _His bruises._

And it was the same, familiar rage coiling through him, only _not_; the same power, it just felt as though it came from a different source, something that burned hotter, brighter, cleaner.

A few long strides took him to stand behind Izaya. The sales clerk looked up at him, balked, and took a step back.

"You've bought enough. We're done. Let's go."

"Ah, but…" Izaya made a show of leaning closer, reading the sales clerk's name tag. "Patrick here thinks I really should try these pants first, right? In fact, he was just about the show me the dressing room, personally."

"I, er…" Patrick's wide gaze flicked back and forth between them, clearly lost on the conversation but not on the atmosphere. Huh. Maybe the kid was smarter than he looked.

Shizuo rested one hand on Izaya's shoulder, fingers tightening just enough to draw the edge of his collar back, revealing skin. Izaya leaned into the touch, just a fraction, and smiled. For the first time, he thought he understood what Izaya meant when he'd claimed to love everything Shizuo did. The marks marring that pale skin suddenly stood for something other than inflicted hurt, lack of control.

Ownership.

There was a moment when his doubts sidled up to him, asked warily whether he really _wanted_ to own Izaya. Whether owning was even the word for it.

_…Yeah, I kinda do. _

"No," he said again through gritted teeth. "I think we're done."

Patrick's eyes went a little buggier when Shizuo's other hand gripped the nearest clothes rack, the smallest amount of pressure making it creak loudly before breaking off with a snap that was audible even above the music. Letting a slow grin curve his lips, Shizuo held the broken rack up, letting all the clothes slide off to pile untidily at the sales clerk's feet.

"Oh, dear." Izaya sighed theatrically. "I think Patrick might've made my Shizu-chan mad."

"And if you don't want me taking it out on your ass, we're leaving."

"Tch, promises, promises."

The hand on Izaya's arm tightening, he herded the flea out of the store. Izaya kept beaming at the bewildered sales clerk the whole way, speaking out of the corner of his mouth, "We're _never _coming back here, are we?"

Shizuo steered him away, convinced the entire damn place was staring at him because no one should turn that red and still be breathing. "No."

Maybe it wouldn't be the way he'd always imagined, but damned if Izaya wouldn't be the death of him, one way or the other.

* * *

><p>It was late afternoon by the time they got home. Izaya was fine with regarding the cottage as such, but he restrained himself from using the terminology aloud. Just because Shizuo let him stay didn't mean the other man accepted this was where he belonged.<p>

Besides, it wasn't the house. It wasn't four walls and a roof. Home was the way he'd caught Shizuo looking at that – admittedly, outrageous _on purpose _– cell phone and smiling a tiny bit, like it was worth more than money. Home was that possessive touch in the store, that crystal clear broadcast of "mine".

There were inferences a man could take from that. If he was dealing with anyone else, Izaya just might have. Shizuo, on the other hand, could have been smiling at the visions in his head of beating the crap out of him with that phone.

No. He supposed he could, at a stretch, see how Shizuo had come to the bizarre conclusion that he was a cruel man. But he was pretty sure he'd had a far more up close and personal relationship with cruelty than Shizu-chan ever had; Shizuo was many, many things. Cruel was not one of them. Not even close.

He dumped the shopping – okay, a little excessive, but worth it just to see Shizu-chan's reactions – inside, before returning to the garden where Shizuo had taken up his usual position against the wall with his cigarettes. Izaya hopped up onto the wall, content enough for now to just watch the fading sun cast Shizuo's profile in light and shadow, turn bleached blond hair into burnished gold.

Shizuo didn't acknowledge his presence, but for once, was the first to break the silence.

"Wonder what people're thinking, both of us just up and vanished."

Izaya leaned back on his hands, watching the setting sun fragment through the trees. "Maybe they'll think we eloped."

"Right." Shizuo took a drag on his cigarette. "Like anyone'd believe that."

Izaya smiled a secretive smile, the kind that had Shizuo's brows furrowing behind his sunglasses. "Ah, you'd be surprised, Shizu-chan…"

"Can't be good for you, though, can it? For your, y'know… _work._"

"Don't make it sound like something dirty, Shizu-chan."

"Isn't it?"

"Well… let's say it's slightly tarnished. And anyway, I doubt a little mystery is doing any harm to my reputation."

Shizuo snorted. "Can anything harm your reputation?"

"Ah, I don't know. Shacking up with my sworn enemy might do it."

It was a nudge over the line, but Shizuo just shook his head slightly, like he'd expected something like that. "Is that what we're doing?"

"I think that's the technical term, yes."

"Do you miss it? Work, I mean." Shizuo glanced up at him. "Or just being back in the city. You must be bored shitless."

"No, actually." He shook his head. "Like I said, a change of pace from the city is good for you sometimes And whenever Shizu-chan wants to go back, we'll go back."

"And if that's never?"

Izaya doubted that was true. Contrary to himself, Shizuo had real ties back home. Friends. Family. Other people he cared about, that were important to him.

…okay, actually 'never' sounded just fine.

"Then that's okay too." And here he was, about to not just nudge past that invisible line Shizuo drew in their conversations, but blast past it, trailing streamers. "But you know, since Shizu-chan isn't trying to kill me anywhere outside the bedroom anymore, it'd be _safe _to go back. You wouldn't have to worry so much about it."

"Izaya—"

Funny, how addictive it was to hear all the different ways Shizuo said his name. Nothing could match the way he'd cried it out that morning he thought Izaya was gone, but still…

"I know, you don't want to talk about it yet. I'm just saying, when you do… I'm here. It's not just you feeling bad about it, you know."

Because there was a world of difference in the distant, detached way he played with his humans till they broke, like an over-eager child with an utterly fascinating toy, to this. He told himself the people he played with still had a choice; he could lead them to that ledge, but they were the ones who jumped. Something failing in them was necessary, some deeper flaw. No one who was content with themselves, who liked themselves would truly fall for his games. If that weakness existed, well… it would be exploited somehow, someday, by someone. At least he gleaned an understanding from it.

But this… this wholly unprepared thing, this mess that had never crossed his mind while he was busy chasing after bigger prey, this uncalculated _accident_… it might not have been directly by his hand, but it was the closest he'd come.

And the only thing he'd learned from it was that when Shizuo hurt, everything else felt wrong.

"Yeah… that's pretty fucking selfish of me, huh?"

"No, not really. After all, my conscience is a rather fickle thing at the best of times, how could you ever know."

"Huh. I think it's more that you _listening_ to your conscience is a fickle thing."

"It's the same, isn't it?"

"Not quite." Shizuo stared at his cigarette for a long moment, before tapping the ash off on the wall. "Besides, it's different for you. You haven't just been waiting for something like this all your life. And even if you had, you wouldn't have been dumb enough to start believing that since you got this far without fucking up, maybe you weren't as bad as you thought."

"But you aren't. You never _have _been, even I could see that much. It might've been easier on us both if you were, Shizu-chan."

Except that wasn't true, because if Shizuo really was the monster he thought he was, they wouldn't be here now.

"Okay, you can sit out here all night," he hopped off the wall, brushing dust from his pants as he turned back for the house. "I'm going to play with my new toys."

He'd reached the door when he heard the mild, "Oi, flea."

"Hmm?" He turned, watching Shizuo's back against a sky turning lavender at the edges.

"Thanks."

Not exactly the declaration he'd been hoping for, but in a way it was better. A hopeful little suggestion that maybe Shizuo would allow himself to need him for other things.

"You're welcome, Shizu-chan."

* * *

><p>Okay, so that hadn't been awkward at all. Shizuo took his time finishing his cigarette before following Izaya inside.<p>

All Izaya's bags were strewn over the couch, so the only place to sit was the bed. He hesitated for a moment, wondering whether the flea would take it as an invitation to join him there, before figuring he wouldn't be too disappointed if he _did._

For a while, however, Izaya seemed far more preoccupied with his purchases, and Shizuo pretended he wasn't irrationally jealous of _things_. His own new phone first – yeah, that'd have to go conveniently missing one of these days… - then some books, then the clothes. That part, Shizuo decided, wasn't too bad, given the impromptu fashion show that resulted. Izaya preened in the doorway, slender frame sashaying back and forth like a catwalk model. Shizuo couldn't tell whether the tight, dark jeans were the same ones he usually wore or not, but the shirt was new; some flowing, dark red thing with laces at the cuffs and collar that the flea left loose and dishevelled.

"How does it look?"

"It's okay." He pillowed his head on his arms, made himself more comfortable. "Take it off."

Izaya stopped, looking up at him, surprise fading to desire, an expression as promising and threatening as a summer storm.

They'd been in this position before. Funny how the same act could feel so different.

Izaya caught the hem of that weird shirt, and slowly tugged it over his head. The pattern of new and fading marks on his shoulders, arms, chest, still made Shizuo's breath catch, but not in quite the same bitter way. Hair mussed, Izaya looked at Shizuo through lowered lashes as he threw the shirt aside. "That thing, in the clothes store? _Very _nice, Shizu-chan."

"Yeah, well… I don't like other people touching my stuff."

"I see." He could hear the smile, even though Izaya turned his back, hips shifting like liquid as he unfastened his jeans. "So I'm 'stuff'?"

"Don't know about that…" Watching Izaya bend down to peel off those tight pants, Shizuo undid his own, sliding a hand under the open material to stroke himself. "But you're definitely mine."

"Ah…" Izaya turned to look at him, and the heat in his smile brushed against Shizuo's senses like velvet. "About time you noticed."

"Better late than never."

He forced himself to keep his hands where they were, as Izaya stalked onto the bed, moving with the lazy grace of a well-disguised predator. He looked down at Shizuo's lazily stroking hand, and mock-pouted.

"Not fair, Shizu-chan. Starting without me."

"Oh? When did I ever say I play fair, flea?"

"Apparently, never."

"Well, if you think you can do better…" He withdrew his hand, tucking it behind his head again. Izaya knelt between his thighs with a sly smile, and Shizuo felt himself grin back, showing teeth. "Make it good."

Izaya ducked his head, laughed, before the fingers on his thighs flexed, like a cat testing its claws. "_Always_, Shizu-chan."

But unlike before, Izaya didn't go straight for his cock. Instead, he leaned down, catching Shizuo's lips in a languid kiss. It was almost chaste, just delicate little flicks of the tongue, gentle scrapes of teeth, until Shizuo forgot the game he was playing with himself. By the time he noticed, his hands were in Izaya's hair, and the kiss turned deep and hungry.

He still held on as the kisses trailed lower, taking their time with every patch of skin revealed by every button Izaya undid on his shirt. Teeth against his collarbone. A tongue darting against a nipple. Warm, open-mouthed kisses tickling his sides. By the time Izaya finally reached his cock, lips tight, wet and purposeful, Shizuo was almost too on edge to enjoy it.

Almost. Even when he had to fight himself for control, it was hard not to enjoy the way Izaya looked sucking him off.

He tightened his fingers in Izaya's hair slightly, just enough to get his attention.

"If you want more than that, you'd better stop."

Izaya released him with a teasing lick, lips a little puffy as he smiled. "Ah, I'm not greedy."

"Sure you're not," Shizuo growled, reaching out to stroke Izaya as the other man stretched to retrieve the lube from the bag that had begun to serve as a makeshift nightstand. "Whatever. I am."

Izaya arched over him as Shizuo prepared him, arms draped loosely around his shoulders, tongue thrusting against his in time with the press of his fingers. If not for the way Izaya tightened around his fingers every time he slid them deep, he'd have been content to stay like that for hours, just tasting, touching. It was too soon, and not soon enough, when Izaya pushed him back lightly, and straddled his hips.

He could barely bring himself to watch Izaya's face; discomfort was okay, but if there was any sign of _real_ pain, then…

But there was neither. Izaya just had a look of blissful concentration, lower lip caught between his teeth, as he slowly worked his hips down. When Izaya was fully seated, just rocking slightly against him like there was no way in hell he could stay still, he leaned his hands on Shizuo's chest and gazed down at him with want-drunk eyes.

"Feels good, ne, Shizu-chan?"

Shizuo shook his head, thrusting up experimentally. Izaya bucked against him, hands scrabbling for balance. "No. Feels fucking fantastic."

Izaya leaned back, hands braced on Shizuo's thighs, taking him deeper still. They were barely moving, just the incremental shift of his hips meeting the grinding of Izaya's, but the flea's cock jerked with every touch. Shizuo's hands slid against everything _else_: from Izaya's thighs to his chest, back down his arms, curving against his ass, but for a while he just wanted to watch Izaya's reaction to him unobstructed. The flea didn't even touch himself, seemingly getting all the stimulation he wanted from Shizuo's gaze alone.

He sat up, pulling Izaya closer. The change of angle made him gasp, made Izaya's rhythm falter. One hand stroking the erection that rubbed wetly against his stomach, the other cupped the back of Izaya's head, drawing him down into a kiss.

"Mine," he breathed against Izaya's lips, feeling the slender body in his arms stiffen. "Mine."

Izaya nodded frantically, arms tight around his shoulders. "Yeah… only Shizu-chan's."

Then they were kissing again, all teeth and tongues, Izaya's moans muffled by Shizuo's mouth as he came, heat splashing between their bodies. Shizuo tried to pull back, afraid he'd bite down too hard, afraid he'd _hurt_when he lost control, but Izaya's fingers gripped his hair tight, not letting him go until he rode out the last shudders of orgasm, coming hard and deep inside Izaya's body.

He fell back against the bed with a low, pleased sigh. Izaya collapsed against him, a limp tangle of wiry limbs, and Shizuo was too boneless to even know whether he was comfortable. Probably. Something certainly felt as though there was nothing in that instant he wanted to change.

"I meant what I said, y'know." He watched the clouds clear through the skylight, the first stars blinking to life in the twilight. "I am grateful. I just… things'll take time, I guess."

"You can have all the time you want," Izaya rested his cheek against Shizuo's chest, and closed his eyes. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I know." He threaded a hand in Izaya's hair, needing to offer something back, something that would tide them over till he found the nerve for the proper words. "Neither am I. Not without you, anyway."

Izaya smiled. "Well, obviously. I go wherever you go, Shizu-chan."

He could definitely get used to this. He could definitely fall in love with the flea. Hell, he probably already had; it'd just take a while for his brain – protozoan as it was – to catch up with his heart.

He watched Izaya sleep, thinking that even if he did dream, there'd be someone there to soothe it away. Someone who got it. Someone who knew what he was – knew he was scared - and stayed anyway.

A red-eyed demon he'd finally managed to catch.


End file.
